


Born of Light

by bratanimus, mrstater



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Depression, Dreams, F/M, Fever Dreams, First Kiss, Force Ghost Qui-Gon Jinn, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Haircuts, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Imprisonment, Jawas - Freeform, Masturbation, Panic Attacks, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Recreational Drug Use, Sex, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Slavery, Slow Burn, Tatooine, Trauma, Tusken Raider, lothario use of the force, man buns, mark ruffalo and julianne moore are desert space hippies, space pot, wanking across the desert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2018-12-03 09:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 168,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11529009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratanimus/pseuds/bratanimus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: Obi-Wan and Sabé think they've accepted life in solitude hiding from the Empire. When fate drops her on Tatooine, they face a choice: continue to exist...or begin to live.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another take on a Rey Kenobi origin, in a very different vein than Queen of Peace. As usual, we primarily use the seven films as canon, while occasionally borrowing elements from The Clone Wars, Rebels, and comics. We anticipate 28 chapters, posting every Monday. The title of the fic is taken from the song "Desert Island Disk" by Radiohead. 
> 
> Your feedback is very much appreciated. :)

A hot, dry wind billowed Obi-Wan’s robes as he tethered his eopie to the post outside Watto’s junk shop. Sand stung his cheeks beneath his hood until he turned away to squint into the street scene, which already bustled with life. Shopkeepers had set up their stalls at dawn, their makeshift fabric sun screens rippling in the breeze. Though it was only mid-morning when Obi-Wan reached Mos Espa, the sun beat down on his shoulders, roasting him like a deer on a campfire spit. He scuffed over to the shop entrance and found the Toydarian hovering over a small boy--berating him, as always.

“I told you, Dojj, less sweeping, more fixing!” A clout on the ear, which knocked the kid sideways, making him stumble and drop his broom. “Are you a simpleton? Or defiant? Do you need school or prison, is what I want to know.”

Dojj grabbed the broom and cowered throughout this speech, until he spied Obi-Wan watching from a distance. Then he drew himself up to face Watto again. “On it,” the boy gritted out. He backed away, awkwardly, keeping his eyes on Watto, then turned to run into the shop, the sleeves of his worn, sand-colored tunic flapping like wings, broom aloft like a saber, which he dropped with a clatter just inside the entrance. Obi-Wan could see his shadowy form rummaging around in the cool dim inside, presumably finding something to “fix.”

Sixteen years since Qui-Gon darkened the door of this shop, and nothing had changed. _We should have done something about this_. Not that freeing the slaves of Tatooine would have made a damned bit of difference. They were all slaves now, to the Empire.

"Hey. Can you read?" Watto's gravelly voice addressed Obi-Wan now. "The sign says, _No Loitering._ You come in, Ben, or you move along, but stop blocking my doorway for the paying customers."

Being called by his alias didn’t shock him as it once did. But the name didn’t feel comfortable, either. It was a pair of too-small boots that made him hobble.

"My apologies," he rasped, shuffling over the threshold toward the counter. The mere act of using his voice for the first time this morning--had he even used it yesterday?--was as difficult as mustering politeness to the shopkeeper. "Today I am a customer." Though he hoped not to pay quite as much as Watto no doubt expected.

"Biggest inventory in Mos Espa," said Watto, waving him in with a flourish and fluttering behind the counter. "What are you looking for?"

Obi-Wan didn't reply, but instead reached into his cloak and drew out a gunky metal cylinder, placing it on the synstone with a soft thunk.

Watto leaned in. "Broken humidity sensor?"

"Clogged," Obi-Wan replied. "Your boy shouldn't have any trouble cleaning it up." He glanced toward the arched doorway of the back room, where Dojj had stopped fiddling with whatever it was he'd busied himself with to watch with keen interest. "I'd like to trade in for a new one."

With an unintelligible grumble, Watto picked up the sensor and inspected it, his shrewd yellow eyes glimmering greedily.

"Your trade, plus fifteen druggats for the new one."

He'd resell the old one for triple what it was worth. "I'll give you ten."

"Twelve."

Obi-Wan knew he could probably haggle Watto down further, but his words felt more valuable to him at the moment than his money. "Done."

While Watto rummaged through one of his many nondescript duraplast bins, Obi-Wan slid the druggats across the countertop and turned around, leaning back on his elbows to watch the boy shimmy a hydrospanner into a grimy pump. Dojj, like most slaves, was malnourished. Short and skinny for his age, he could’ve been anywhere from eight to twelve years old. During other visits to Watto’s, Obi-Wan had seen the kid talking with a range of other children, one or two of whom could’ve been siblings, and once he’d seen a woman--his mother?--giving him a haircut while he squirmed.

Dojj didn’t look like Anakin. Not one bit. He had short dark hair and big, soulful brown eyes. His lips were full and he was gangly like a growing grantaloupe. And yet they were identical.

Obi-Wan turned away.

“Okay, big spender, how’s this?” Watto slapped down another sensor that had clearly been refurbished.

Deep breaths. “That’s not new.”

“All I got, Ben.”

“Eight druggats.”

“Nope.”

Obi-Wan picked up his old sensor and his money and shambled away.

“All right, all right, pedunky, ten druggats, that’s my final offer.”

Obi-Wan returned, dropped the ten bits and the damaged sensor, snatched up the replacement. The money had scarcely touched the counter before Watto caught it up. "Dojj!" he barked to the boy in the back. "Clean this up!"

He lobbed the trade-in at the boy as he scurried from the back room. Quick reflexes, honed by a life of abuse, allowed him to throw up a hand and avoid catching it in the forehead.

Obi-Wan blinked. Took a breath. Focused on Watto.

Although he knew Toydarians couldn't be compelled by the Force--at least, Qui-Gon hadn't been able to compel _this_ one--Obi-Wan said, “ _The boy and his family need extra rations. And respect_.”

Dojj gasped; perhaps this was the first time anyone had come to his defense. For a moment there was only the hum of Watto's wings vibrating as he hovered, like an overgrown shadowmoth. Then he guffawed. "Nice one. That almost felt like some Jedi hocus pocus. But let me tell you something, Barvy Ben--the Jedi are all dead."

Out the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw Dojj's shoulders slump.

"So they are," he muttered, then turned and padded outside, pocketing the sensor and tugging his hood lower against the battering sand.

It had been foolhardy to try what he knew to be impossible, and he hoped Dojj didn't suffer on account of his pride. He’d nearly reached his eopie when he knew he could no longer ignore the scuffling of the boy trying to catch up with him.

“Hey. Mister Ben.”

Lowering his gaze to Dojj’s smudged, upturned face, he waited.

“Are you some kind of wizard?”

His lips quirked, and it felt strange. The boy stared until Obi-Wan felt compelled to scrub his fingers through his beard for the crumbs of his breakfast. No crumbs, but the hair was unbrushed, with more than a few gnarls. He cleared his throat. “What do you think?”

"Well…" Dojj fiddled with the frayed end of the belt cinched tight around his tunic, which appeared several sizes too big. "I _don't_ think you're crazy, even though Watto says you are. Just that you kind of _look_ crazy."

Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows twitch upward.

“Yes,” the boy said. "I think you must be a wizard."

“Hmm.”

Obi-Wan untied the rope and was about to hoist himself up when he noticed, belatedly, that Dojj had sounded distracted. He glanced back to see the boy staring across the street, toward an alley where a woman with short dark hair seemed to be engaged in a dispute with a Twi'lek vendor.

"Do you know her?" Obi-Wan asked.

Dojj shook his head, but continued to stare, round-eyed, throat bobbing as he swallowed. "But if she's dealing with that sleemo, she's in deep Bantha poodoo."

_Weren't they all?_

"Would you hold this for a moment?" Obi-Wan asked, and Dojj took the rope from him.

Crossing the street, Obi-Wan caught snatches of the dispute.

"Do you have them, or not?" the woman choked out, then glanced away, coughing into her sleeve. "I was told you would. If you don't, just say, and stop wasting my time."

"Seems to me like you don't have much time," the Twi'lek hissed as another paroxysm of coughing seized her.

The cough itself would've been alarming enough, rattling deeply through her narrow frame like the growl of a krayt dragon through a canyon, but what Obi-Wan took special note of was the way she spoke. There was something familiar about her voice, not just the hoarseness from her illness, but as if she were not in the habit of using it often.

_She sounds like me_.

He moved nearer, glancing at vendors' stalls so as not to appear to be involving himself in the Twi'lek's business--which he suspected had something to do with illicit substances. Now that he could see the stranger’s profile, he wondered if she might be a spice addict. Her face, pale and sweaty, had a sickly sheen in the dappled sunlight that flickered through the fabric shades hung across the alley’s rooftops.

But her bearing had nothing of the addict about it. Her shoulders back, her chin held high, she appeared to look down her nose even though the well-dressed Twi’lek was a good six inches taller and her mechanic's coveralls hadn't seen a laundry unit in some time.

“I’ve got time enough,” she said through clenched teeth, “to take my business elsewhere.”

She turned smoothly, her gait strong in her heavy work boots...until her eyes unfocused and fluttered shut. She staggered, catching herself with one hand on the wall. Her backpack nearly slipped off her shoulder and, as she tried to save it, she stumbled again. This time her side hit the wall and she slid down a bit. It seemed a supreme effort for her to lock her knees and stay upright.

Obi-Wan was already rushing toward her when the Twi’lek whipped his head toward the dark recesses of the alley, his lekku snapping around his neck like serpents, and called in Huttese for backup, adding, “It’s crazy Ben! That nerve burner…”

Before Obi-Wan could shout, two other Twi’leks emerged from the shadows and were upon her, grabbing her under her sweaty armpits and marching her toward a small wooden door behind the dealer. _Slavers_. The woman tried to cry out, but she was overtaken by another violent cough that sapped her of all energy to struggle.

Obi-Wan threw up a hand and sent Tatooine wind into their backs. All three fell. The woman did not rise...but the other two did, followed by the dealer.

_Kriff_.

A quick scan revealed no weapons other than what might be tucked into a boot, but then the first Twi’lek drew back a bony fist and Obi-Wan had no time for further observation. The next two minutes elapsed in a blur of arms and fists and feet as he dodged and struck. His hood slipped back, droplets of sweat flew from his long hair as he pivoted and elbowed, slammed a head into a wall, kicked a chest and heard ribs crack.

Finally the three Twi’leks didn’t get up again.

Panting, Obi-Wan became aware of a boy’s shouts, and it dawned on him that Dojj had been hollering during the whole fight.

“You got ‘em, Mister Ben! That’s what I’m talking about! Jabba’s thugs don’t stand a chance--”

Obi-Wan raised a finger to his lips for quiet and the boy, still jumping up and down while he held the patient eopie’s rope in both hands, grinned across the busy street at him. If any other passersby had paused to watch, they'd moved quickly along--for street fights were far from rare sights in Mos Espa.

He patted his pockets for the sensor, then turned back to the woman on the ground and rolled her gently onto her back. Her brown eyes appeared glassy as she tried to focus on him, but for an instant they widened, as if she recognized him. His own brows pulled together. Did he know her? That familiarity of her voice...

When he stretched out his hand toward her, she recoiled, but another coughing fit prevented her from moving out of his reach. She turned her head so that the backs of his fingers brushed her cheek. A brief touch, but enough for him to feel the heat radiating from her skin. With a fever that high and that rattling cough, she must have the Dantari flu. For some time, by the sound of it and, as the Twi'lek dealer pointed out, would not for much longer if left untreated.

This certainly had _not_ been in Obi-Wan's plans, but he couldn't leave her to die in the street--or worse, he thought with a glance at the thugs who would eventually come to. A deep breath, then he bent, put one arm around her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, and lifted her limp frame. Even with the additional weight of her knapsack, she was lighter than he'd expected. He'd seen she was thin, but the baggy coveralls disguised just _how_ thin. The notches of her spine jutted against his forearm even through his tunic sleeve.

She moaned, head lolling against his shoulder.

"Let's get you home," he said, in as friendly a tone as he could manage.

"No home."

He should've thought of that, given her garb wasn't local. "Ship?"

She tried to answer, but coughed, and wagged her head against him in the negative.

“All right. Medic it is.”

"No!" Her cry ricocheted off the synstone alley walls.

A fist slammed into his jaw--one of the Twi'leks', he thought, until his head snapped back after the impact and he saw that they were still out cold. And then he realized it had been the woman who punched him, and he'd dropped her as his hands reflexively rose in defense. It must've used up every ounce of strength she possessed, because she lay on her elbows, chest heaving as she coughed and glowered up at him, eyes burning in the midst of her sallow, sweaty face. Burning with fever and the fire of a fighter he knew without a doubt he'd seen before.

" _Sabé_?"

~*~

The long eopie ride from Mos Espa to his house at the edge of the Jundland Wastes grew longer still as Obi-Wan clutched the delirious woman against him to keep her from slipping off when she drifted out of consciousness. Occasionally she regained enough of her senses to struggle, or to mumble his name-- _Obi-Wan,_ not _Ben_ \--or to ramble, _But you're dead, the Jedi are all dead_ , _I saw it_ , and he’d have to remind her that he was who she thought he was and, barring a medic, he was her best option for recovery, and obviously he _wasn't_ dead. After he’d told her for the fourth time, it seemed to sink in. She hadn’t the strength to talk, anyhow, and he hadn’t the desire for conversation. Still, he was relieved when she allowed him to wrap his cloak around her, to keep the biting sand out of her eyes and mouth, and to shield her already burning skin from the scorching rays of the twin suns.

When at last the eopie plodded near, his hovel had never been a more welcome sight. He swept his gaze across the barren hillsides as he spurred it once around the property, then guided the weary animal to its little corral and shelter next to the vaporator. Some people had guard dogs. He had a flatulent eopie.

As he eased himself off the beast’s back, he realized how bone-tired he was. One had to be vigilant passing through the valleys, even in broad daylight, for marauders worked harder than princes in these parts, and he’d had not just his own well being to consider today. His chest and groin were slick with sweat from having Sabé pressed to him for close to four hours, and as he hefted her down--thankfully she was conscious just now and could help him, however minimally in her weakened state--he saw that her short hair was plastered to the back of her neck, her cotton tank top soaked beneath the dark coveralls she’d unzipped from neck to waist. He slung her backpack over his shoulder, wrapped her arm around his neck, and walked her in through the side door.

Without pausing to shuck his cloak on the hook just inside, he took her to his small bed and lowered her into it, protecting her head from the rounded wall of the alcove as he did so. After he'd tugged off her boots and socks, she promptly passed out again.

For a moment Obi-Wan stood over her, rubbed a hand over his dry eyes and his beard and dully throbbing jaw, wanting nothing more than to fall into the oblivion of sleep himself. Usually he did, in the heat of the day. But although they were relatively safe at home, Sabé wasn't out of danger. The weight of the humidity sensor in his pocket reminded him that they'd _both_ be in trouble if he didn't repair his vaporator before nightfall, the early winter sunset one of the few indicators that Tatooine did, indeed, have seasons. His ride to Mos Espa and back had used up a lot of his day's supply, and she was dehydrated from the high fever.

He had to break it. As he turned to go to the kitchen and make a cold compress, his head spun with the number of tasks before him. How had he ever been fit to command armies?

Returning to the bed, he pushed the damp hair off Sabé's forehead and placed the wet rag to her skin. It occurred to him as he trudged back through the living space to the door that if she awoke while he was outside she might be frightened to find herself in a strange house. Perhaps he ought to tell her he was going out? But she hadn't stirred in the slightest when he put the compress on her, so rousing her might be a fruitless endeavor even if talking to her did not seem like yet another monumental task. Changing the sensor wouldn't--or _shouldn't--_ take long.

Anyway, she might be equally frightened to awaken to a man wanted for the murder of the Queen and Senator she'd served for nearly half her life.

What in blazes was she doing here? The thought that the Handmaiden might be a fugitive, too, came as little comfort; she might bring the Empire down on him. During a stop for water, he'd rifled through her bag for a tracking device or commlink, and thankfully had found nothing, not even any identification.

That was troubling.

Obi-Wan was grateful for the distraction of the vaporator repairs--for their duration. Long enough that by the time he returned to the house her fever had burned every last drop of moisture from the cloth, and she twitched and tossed restlessly. Quickly, he filled a basin, which he placed on the small pedestal table in front of the bed.

"Sabé." He shed his cloak, letting it fall to the floor, and sat at the edge of the bed to shake her shoulder gently. One eyelid opened a slit, though he wasn't sure if she was conscious. "Your fever's too high for these clothes."

She moaned, perhaps in response, perhaps not. Nevertheless, Obi-Wan took it as permission, and she didn't try to swat his hands away as he pushed the sleeves down over her arms--they were nearly as thin as Dojj’s--and rolled the already unzipped garment down to her waist. Despite her skin burning like the dunes under the twin suns, she shivered as he sponged her off, chillbumps prickling up over her skin, her nipples forming little peaks through her thin tank top. He raised his eyes back to her face, her cheekbones prominent as it contorted with misery. A healer would speak to her, offer soothing words, draw upon the Force to balance the war that waged in her body. Obi-Wan was no healer.

_"Ssh,"_ he whispered, and traced his fingers across her furrowed brow. It relaxed, and the tip of her tongue darted out over her cracked lips. He dipped his fingers in the basin and let a few droplets fall into her mouth.

After some minutes of these ministrations, she settled, and he took advantage of her stillness to divest her fully of the coveralls, searching the pockets for trackers, too.

The inseam felt heavy, so he took a kitchen knife and nicked the seam carefully open, heaving a sigh when he found only ingots hidden there. _Smart girl_. A pang of guilt pierced him that he’d just destroyed a woman’s only clothing. Well, when he located his needle and thread he’d mend it, and apologize for snooping.

Turning his attention back to the invalid, he discovered that underneath her ruined coveralls Sabé wore a pair of fitted shorts, the jut of her hipbones and a sliver of midriff flashed at him from between the waistband and the hem of her undershirt. He turned his attention to the boots next to the bed, but a sweep of his fingers revealed nothing hidden there, either.

After he’d finished sponging her off and replaced the wet cloth on her forehead, he tugged the thin coverlet from the edge of the bed and tucked it loosely over her legs. Likely she’d alternate between chills and burning fever. She needed nourishment, if her body was to have any strength to fight the virus; the prominence of her ribs and collarbones as her breath rose and fell in sleep indicated that it had been some time since Sabé had a proper meal, illness notwithstanding. Of course, very little of what Obi-Wan could produce much from his kitchen fit anyone's definition of _proper_.

Nevertheless, he rose from the bed, careful not to jostle his unexpected houseguest from her momentary rest, and went to see what he could procure for her--and himself. A sudden awareness of the gnawing in his own stomach alerted him to the fact that he hadn't eaten anything today but flatbread during the dawn trek to Mos Espa. He knew what his old Master would say about such negligence.

Obi-Wan didn’t expect to hear what he _did_ say.

"This is new."

Ordinarily, the rumble of Qui-Gon’s voice was a welcome intrusion on Obi-Wan's solitary existence. Now, as he peered into the refrigeration unit, the hint of dry amusement made him feel like a Padawan again, caught doing something he oughtn't.

"Actually," he replied without turning around, "she's an old friend." He lifted out a pot of leftover stew and carried it to the cooktop. There wasn't a lot, but if he added water it would stretch further, and thin broth was likely as much as Sabé could manage in her state, anyway. At least it would get her the nutrients she desperately needed. "You remember the decoy Queen of Naboo?"

A shift in the Force told him that Qui-Gon had moved toward his guest, and Obi-Wan finally turned and looked with him. The scantily clad woman lying supine on his bed was visible through the transparent spirit form, as though he were viewing her through a sheer blue curtain.

Qui-Gon gazed at her for a long moment, until Obi-Wan busied himself with the broth again. The wind was picking up, as it often did in the late afternoon, making eerie music over the rounded rooftop, whistling through the small windows like a giant version of the bes'bev flutes they played--and killed with--on Mandalore.

At length he sensed his Master turn as he spoke again. “Why haven’t you used the Force to cure her illness?”

“You know why.” Obi-Wan’s wooden spoon clacked softly against the sides of the metal pot. He wished he’d bought the spices he’d intended to get first thing, before everything had detoured so drastically. “I was never adept at Force healing.”

“What better time than now to become so?”

An echo in the Force lingered where Qui-Gon’s presence had been. Obi-Wan frowned, glad that his Master hadn’t expected a reply. Just yet, anyhow.

“Must be convenient to come and go as you wish,” he muttered to no one as he stirred the broth.

When it had warmed enough, he retrieved two bowls from the shelf and glanced at Sabé as he turned. She sprawled now, one arm over her head, her fingers twitching as though she dreamed. Her neck and chest glistened with sweat, but she’d turned her head away from him so that he couldn’t see her face. The only other indication that she lived was the rapid rise and fall of her breast.

Taking his ladle from an earthenware jug, he served them both and, still standing, sipped his directly from the bowl with his back to the invalid in his bed. Across the living room from her stood the table and single chair where he customarily took his meals. All the times he'd eaten in solitude, longing for company, and now there was someone he couldn't face. Well--she was unconscious. And hardly dressed for dinner. She was hardly dressed at all. He drank his soup and tried to picture her in the Queen's raiments, almost every inch of her concealed by bulky gowns and headdresses, what little skin that was exposed painted.

They'd never suspected, not once, that she was the Handmaiden and Padmé the Queen.

_"What strength of mind that one possesses,"_ Qui-Gon had remarked to him after the revelation, _"to play the role so convincingly."_

Obi-Wan had agreed, quipping, _"And what physical strength, as well. Those headdresses look heavy."_

He heard his Master's chuckle with such resonance that he turned to see if he'd reappeared. But no. It had only been the echo of memory. Obi-Wan wasn't sure if it had been helpful after all to remember Sabé as she had been, for when she stirred, she could scarcely lift her head from the pillow, let alone support one of those monstrosities of feathers and false hair she'd once balanced so effortlessly. What misfortune had befallen her? Was there no one in the galaxy who wasn't doomed to misery?

He set his bowl on the countertop, picked up the one he'd filled for her, and carried it over, a spoon pinched between two of his fingers. Sabé’s eyes seemed to register him as as stood next to her.

“Broth?” he asked in a hushed voice, feeling a fool as he balanced the bowl in his hands as though she couldn’t see it.

She considered his offer a moment too long, he thought, but finally she nodded. He set the bowl and spoon down on the table and reached for the bolsters at the edges of his bed, repositioning them so that she’d be able to sit.

Rolling onto her side, she tried to push herself up, but collapsed again, pressing her lips together tightly and blinking--from fatigue or frustration, he couldn’t tell.

He caught her eye and raised his eyebrows. She nodded again, so he reached one arm behind her and slid her up. Even that amount of movement made her pant harder, and he left her to it until she recovered enough to open her eyes to him. For a moment they held his gaze, her confusion and wariness radiating as hotly from her as the fever. Did she think he was going to poison her? He was, after all, wanted for murder, and how was she to know the charge was false? Or was that it? Did she think this wasn't real?

She must've decided it was safe, or that it didn't matter, because her eyes slid sideways to the table. Obi-Wan got the broth, and when he swiveled back to her, he focused on her hands, which reached out to cup the bowl. He placed it in them, and she cradled it to her chest as if it were something precious. Her eyes closed over it, almost as if in prayer, and she inhaled deeply as the steam swirled up to her nose. Her tongue appeared again between her chapped lips. They flickered at the corners, almost as if she were smiling, or trying to.

"I'm afraid it smells better than it tastes," Obi-Wan said, feeling he ought to warn her--not that it smelled particularly appetizing, either.

He watched her balance the bowl in one hand as the other slid out to grasp the spoon. As soon as it was in her hand he noticed the trembling, and he regretted giving it to her at all, for now they’d both be obliged to watch her struggle.

He reached again for the spoon, but she gripped it more tightly. He recognized in the set of her jaw the woman he used to know, the one who balanced the peace of a galaxy in one hand with a blaster in the other.

But those hands hadn’t shaken the way these did, and she was in danger of spilling every drop of her sustenance.

He took the spoon. Darted a look of apology toward eyes that didn’t meet his. Dipped the spoon into the broth and brought it to her lips.

The seconds passed. He thought he might have to resort to Force suggestion to get her to drink the kriffing broth, which wasn't what he wanted at all. She wasn't Watto. She wasn't a child, either, yet he knew he'd made her feel like one. He was well practiced at that.

“Just...until you’re stronger,” he murmured.

Sabé looked at him then, her glassy eyes moistening as though she might cry, but she swiped her free hand across them and nodded. Opened her mouth.

A grimace flickered across her cheek as she sipped, and she held it in her mouth for a moment as if she weren't sure it would go down.

"I wasn't joking about the taste," he said.

Sabé _hmm_ ed, presumably in agreement, but swallowed. Leaned in to sip what remained in the spoon. He dipped it into the bowl again.

After a few more slow sips she grew tired of holding the bowl against her and allowed him to take that, as well. The nutrients must be working, because she sat up a little straighter against the bolsters, and a little color came into her hollow cheeks and pale lips, although that might have just been the warmth of the broth. Or a spiking fever.

He knew when she was done and set the bowl aside. She’d eaten perhaps one-third of what he’d hoped she would, but it was better than nothing.

“You must be wondering where we are.”

She blinked. Perhaps she didn't care. He could hardly blame her for that.

Regardless of whether she did or didn't, he had to show her now. Waving a hand over the space between them on the bedcovers, he proclaimed the area next to his knee, “North,” and beside Sabé’s leg, “South.” He cleared his throat. “On Tatooine.”

She scoffed, which triggered a coughing fit. He waited until it passed. All right, so she knew that much.

He rumpled up the covers near himself. “Great Mesra Plateau.” A jumble near her. “Jundland Wastes.” Traced a finger. “The Xelric Draw, which we rode through.” He pointed twice. “Mos Eisley. Mos Espa.” He looked to make sure Sabé knew that was where he’d found her. He pointed again near the Wastes. “My house.”

She stared at the little divot his finger made in the blanket, then looked up, out into the living space. He swiped his hand over the little map, smoothing out the wrinkles until nothing of it remained. As if even that evidence of his whereabouts might lead the Empire to him.

"'Fresher?"

It was the first word she'd spoken besides her confused utterances of his name during their ride. Low and monotone due to her illness, yet it reminded him of the voice she'd affected as Queen Amidala. He was almost grateful she'd been silent up till now and that she didn't try to say anything else as he helped her out of bed and haltingly across the room and up the step into the kitchen, through which the refresher lay at the very back of the house. He became preoccupied with whether they were in for even more awkward times if she needed his assistance in there, but once she'd set foot inside he glimpsed her tighten her chin in determination just before she shut the door in his face.

She didn’t pass out, and soon she reappeared in the doorway, albeit with a face even more pale than it had been when she’d entered. Swiftly he threw an arm under her shoulder, and she sagged against him as he half-walked, half-dragged her back to the bed and settled her back in.

Once he’d tucked the covers around her again, he went into the cellar and, taking the dagger from his worktable, made another notch on the wall before trudging back upstairs with his bedroll.

He spread it out on the floor between the bed and table, took one of the unused pillows, and without bothering to undress--one unclothed person in the house was more than enough--lay down. There were no other covers save the ones over and under Sabé, so he grabbed his cloak from where he’d left it on the floor and draped it over himself.

The suns had not fully set, their rays setting the pale synstone afire for a few minutes longer, like the dying embers of a campfire.

Lying on his back, he mused that he must look like a corpse wrapped in funereal bindings. Would Sabé die in the night? His last thought before sleep came was that there was no shortage of graveyard all around should he need to dig another hole.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos on Chapter 1! Your feedback means so much to us. We look forward to hearing what you make of Chapter 2. :)

****Her body was on fire.

Sabé lay without moving while the flames licked at her skin. If she was on fire that could mean only one thing: she'd died, and they were burning her body.

A proper Naboo funeral was too much to hope for, but death would be an answer to prayer. She'd long since given up praying for release. Death was its own release, and...Padmé would be there.

Unless that had been a lie. They'd told her so many…

If it was true, then Padmé would have one loyal Handmaiden with her, following wherever she led. Maybe Dormé and Moteé, too.

A tear leaked from the corner of Sabé's eye. She didn't want her friends to die...

A cough tore from her lungs, choked her with her own ashes. The vague thought flitted through her mind that she shouldn't need to breathe if she was dead. She tried not to, but coughed again.

Suffocating...the funeral shroud was suffocating her. Sabé thrashed against it, tried to sit up, to breathe. Someone helped...a man's cool hands against her skin, his strong arm supporting her. Why didn't he catch fire, too?

"You're burning with fever, Sabé," he said, as if in reply. Had she spoken aloud?

It had been so long since anyone called her by name that she'd all but forgotten she had one. _Sabé._ She liked the way he said her name, so gently--was anyone gentle anymore?--but how did he know it? The young Jedi Padawan was supposed to think she was Queen Amidala and Padmé the Handmaiden. Had Master Jinn guessed the truth, too?

"Can't fool a Jedi," she heard herself rasp.

"You'd be surprised."

Her eyes--when had she opened them?--adjusted to the dim, and she could just make out Obi-Wan's hunched form in the moonlight that filtered through the row of viewports across the ship. What was he doing in her cabin? Sitting on the edge of her bunk? She heard a splash, the trickle of water. It must be time for her ashes to be scattered in the Solleu River. But before that, she had to know--

"Where's your braid?" she asked.

He turned his face toward her, a vertical line forming between his brows, a valley between two ridges like the map he'd drawn in the bedclothes. "It...was cut off a long time ago."

Moving near to her again, he raised his hand. Sabé leaned into his touch, for she'd liked the coolness of his skin on hers. Instead of skin, she felt damp cloth. Unable to see him properly, she reached out. Her fingertips brushed coarse hair along his chin and jaw.

"You grew a beard. How long have we been stranded?"

Had Qui-Gon and Padmé found the parts they needed to repair the ship?

Obi-Wan's lips moved in reply, but his voice didn't reach her ears. The fire crackled and roared as he eased her back to lie on her funeral pyre. Her skin burned, yet she shivered. Why didn't he cover her again with the shroud? Water bathed her forehead, her face, her shoulders and chest. She coughed again. Not suffocating now, _drowning_. Above her, through the undulating water, the pale stone ceiling of the Theed Funeral Temple. Her ashes scattered off the bridge into the Solleu...

Down she sank, weightless, into the dark, until her remains settled onto the riverbed.

It was quiet here, and comfortable. They said a drowning death could be peaceful. She was grateful, if this was hers.

But a buzzing sound drew her back.

The hum of the energy field around her cell never shut off. It was the only sound she could hear. She should be thankful, she supposed, that it silenced the misery of the other prisoners, but it kept her awake. The slab was too hard for sleep, the lights too bright, her stomach too empty. All the other prisoners could see her pacing, pacing. She saw them, too, all around her, and across the dark central pit.

Now it was alight, and someone had died there. No, that wasn’t right. He fought, he still fought. Would they all have to stand and fight, sooner or later? Death in combat would be acceptable, if not as peaceful as drowning. Why did they never choose her?

It was the Jedi. Unarmed, unwashed, and malnourished, they all drew on the Force because they had no choice. The Troopers found it amusing.

_Choose me_ , she screamed into the thrumming barrier of her cell. Her hands balled into fists, twitching to strike out. She was so thin, so tired, but for this she could muster strength. Add a real charge to the false ones they'd threatened her with if she didn't give up Padmé's secrets.

But when her fist finally connected, she knew she shouldn't have hit him…He was fighting _for_ her, not against. This wasn't the dungeon ship; she'd fallen onto a dusty street beneath open sky. How long had it been since she'd seen the sky, sunlight? But there were two suns, and they burned, and the voices of the onlookers were too loud. A kid's voice chanted, _You get 'em, Mister Ben!_

Who was Ben? She didn't know a Ben. She knew _him_ , but that had not been his name. What had it been?

"Obi-Wan," he said. "I was Obi-Wan. You recognized me, Sabé, remember?"

She coughed again, her throat full of dust or ash. Water trickled down it as he gave her a drink, but that choked her, too. He was very kind, but she didn't want a drink, she wanted to know where his lightsaber was. He didn't have it. None of  the Jedi on the dungeon ship did. The metal of its hilt caught the light as the Trooper brandished it, like a police officer’s stun baton. Obi-Wan's eyes flashed blue as he pummeled her captors with his bare hands. Shiny white combat armor collapsed under his fists. Wait. Not white. These were loose, sand-colored tunics. But the saber--

“No one took it. I put it away. It’s too dangerous,” he said, with the finality of ship doors closing behind her.

Sabé shivered until she thought she’d break apart. The shroud covered her again. Were they burying her alive? Which planet was she on now? An ice world. Or the river, frozen over in winter. From the bottom of the riverbed, the ice looked like a vaulted roof, so far away. The ceiling of her cell. The inside of the shuttle. The hatch of the freighter. Where was she?

“Help me, Obi-Wan.”

She didn't want to die. If he was alive, there was hope…

She clutched at the front of his tunic, pulling herself upright as she fought for breath between the deep wracking coughs. He put a cup to her lips, but when she swallowed the water turned her as cold inside as she was without. She choked and retched into a bowl he held in front of her. Her sides hurt. Her throat burned. She couldn’t stop shivering.

Light shone through the viewports of the escape shuttle now. Moteé. Dormé. She had to stop crying. They’d want her to make it out alive, to honor their deaths by succeeding where they’d failed. But they _hadn’t_ failed, at least no more than Sabé had. That was what she told Saw Gerrera, but he didn’t believe her, just as Vader had not--

“Sabé. Sabé!”

Hands shook her. She tried to push them away before they could close around her throat. Not again, she’d stop him this time. She’d keep him here, in her cell. She’d tell him everything. But when the binders closed around her wrists, all she could think of was Padmé, try as she might to wrap those thoughts against her chest and warm them with her secret promises…

“I’m not leaving,” a voice answered as though she’d begged aloud. She thought she saw a memory of a smile, but wasn’t sure if she’d opened her eyes or dreamed it. “Where would I go?” the voice went on, interrupting the dream. A lovely one.

His fingers uncurled from around her wrists and wiped wetness from her cheeks. She mustn’t let him see her weakness, mustn’t, mustn’t.

“It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

That was a lie, she knew it, but she was so tired. The lights dimmed. The Rebel ship dropped out of hyperspace, far from the Imperial prison. Taking her where? Another cell, this one darker, the strides of her pacing shorter, and no one to witness.

No witnesses. An ill-fitting uniform and a stolen shuttle. She’d blend in, find strangers who would ask no questions. A galaxy full of enemies, but she’d slip through like sand between fingers.

The sand, driven on the desert wind, lashed at her skin. Made her eyes water and filled her nose and mouth so she couldn't breathe. Obi-Wan wrapped her in his cloak, but it was too hot. He'd cut the wide sleeves off, so that it flapped behind him like a cape. Hours and hours they rode, and Sabé burned beneath the punishing twin suns. Occasionally the barren landscape shifted, hills and plateaus swelling up from the cracked earth like rumpled bedclothes.There were no rivers here, not so much as a stream. Where would he scatter her ashes when she died? How would her spirit join the planet's life force? Maybe Tatooine had no life force...only death. The wind would carry her remains like so many grains of sand...

Someone shouted into the wind, but she was too far away to hear. She turned her face toward the suns, but the light had dimmed again. Blue illuminated her skin. A lightsaber? The moon?

_There_. Again, there was the voice. A whisper, or a shout. Maybe it was singing. If she just listened harder--

“I might be able to...”

Had she said that, or had someone else? Listen, she told herself. Listen, listen…

“I can’t promise...”

The promise she’d made to Padmé. Had she kept it, or not? Something pounded within her chest, rattled it inside out as though it could shake her secrets loose. She had to hold them tighter. She could not fail.

“What if I fail?”

The cold blue light came so near she could almost touch it. Was she dying? She felt so calm. This was easy. She smiled. She’d go to it, and everything would be good again. No more losses, no more failures. She’d go.

“ _Come back_.”

A hand reached out to her. She recoiled from it, screwed her eyes shut tight, as if that would stop it from reaching through them, into her mind.

_"Come back_ , _"_ said the voice again. The palm turned up, open. An invitation. Waiting for her to accept, rather than forcing its way in.

Sabé considered it. Go back to where? Life would be hard. She had so many secrets to keep, and she was tired. If she went on, to the place where no one could find her secrets, she could rest…

"I can't. I'm sorry." She didn't know who'd said it, but she knew she turned away from the outstretched hand.

" _Do not give up, young one_."

She knew that voice, deep as the earth, and her ashes floated toward it. Undulating, blue as water.

“No, no. You don’t get to leave.”

Another lie. At last she could escape. Padmé was dead. Her friends were dead. All of them.

“Stay...”

Rivers could be straight or winding, and this one...seemed...to return. Hadn’t she just been here? The trees on the shore hung near her face like someone’s hair, the breeze hot as breath on her cheeks.

"They're all dead. My friends are all dead. I am the last…"

That wasn't her voice. It was someone else. Someone who was alone.

Someone who was weeping. She felt the tears like raindrops, running in rivulets through the cracks in the barren ground, cooling the sun-baked soil. Even here, something might grow.

"Please... _stay_ _with me_."

The hand hung limp, defeated. Sabé uncurled her own from the fist that clutched her secrets.

"I've failed her, Qui-Gon. Failed you..."

Qui-Gon? She looked back, over her shoulder. In the flickering blue, the ashes formed themselves into a face she'd seen long ago.

But Qui-Gon had died. She'd attended his funeral, seen his body burn, Obi-Wan scatter his Master's ashes into the Solleu...Qui-Gon Jinn was dead, with all the other Jedi.

Except for Obi-Wan.

"There is no death," Qui-Gon told her. "There is only the Force."

_The Force_. The life force. A river flowed through her, quenching the fire. Her hand, strong and steady, took Obi-Wan's.

Together, they swam to the surface.

~*~

She woke to light. Daylight, _sunlight_. The light of two suns, illuminating the pale stone walls. It was like being inside an eggshell, incubating, awaiting birth. But she wasn’t alone here.

Her eyes fluttered open and met the blue she’d thought was a dream. Not Qui-Gon’s eyes, but Obi-Wan Kenobi’s. He watched her from where he sat at her feet, hunched within the curved recess of the bed where she lay, his arms wrapped around the knees folded up against his body. His clothing, rumpled and worn, matched the walls. Even his long, wild hair and uncombed beard were sand-colored. Sun-colored. Was he trying to disappear?

Her vision blurred and she blinked, tried to sit up, fell back again. A moan. Was that her own voice?

Movement on the bed told her that he’d shifted to sit next to her. He removed the cloth from her forehead and she heard the splish of it being dipped into water--a basin, perhaps--then drips of the excess being squeezed out before he replaced it on her skin. Nothing had ever felt so good to her. Not the cloth, but the fingers that trailed along her cheek.

She’d burned for so long. Hadn’t she been ill? She barely remembered anything before being dumped at Mos Espa…

As if in answer to her wondering, Obi-Wan said, “Your fever finally broke a few hours ago.”

Forcing her eyes open again, she took in her surroundings. The small alcove over a semicircular bed. The man sitting beside her; there was barely space for him on the edge of the thin mattress, but she hadn’t the strength to slide over and offer him more. Beyond his rounded shoulders waited a small, low-ceilinged room. A few narrow windows filtered in bright sunlight. Minimal decor. Maximum support columns taking up precious living space. It smelled like onion soup in here. Unless that was her. It had been a while since she’d seen a ‘fresher. Likely would be longer, until her strength returned.

_How long have I been asleep?_ she tried to ask, but with the first word she began to cough again.

Obi-Wan reached for a cup on the small table next to the bed, but he changed his mind about picking it up and moved instead to help her sit up, because she was still too weak to push into a sitting position. She could barely lift her head from the pillow on her own. Her cheeks prickled with warmth again as she remembered the humiliation of not being able to feed herself...but before she could glance away, his gaze caught hers.

"It's all right," he said. His voice was deep, as though he hadn't slept, but sounded more like the man she'd known. Always so kind.

It made her want to weep. A tear did leak from the corner of her eye before she could stop it, but he'd turned to get the water. The task of holding the cup steady in her hands helped quell the tears that threatened to well up. She drank slowly, sip by sip, until another bout of coughing wracked her. He slipped the cup from her fingers and discretely watched the wall opposite while she hacked until she thought her insides would come out.

A jolt of panic stabbed her as she wiped spittle from her chin with the back of her wrist. “I don’t want to get you sick,” she rasped.

He looked back at her, a glimmer of amusement lighting his weary eyes. “You have bigger things to worry about,” he said. “So have I.”

That was certainly true. She tilted her head back against the wall. "I hope it killed him."

She had to take another drink, and Obi-Wan remained silent. A little odd that he didn't ask who she meant, though perhaps not as odd as the polite interest with which he regarded her after she'd just wished death on a man. At least, she thought it was interest. Hoped. Because she found she wanted to tell him even as she was grateful he hadn't asked.

"This spacer in the Bahalian Shipyards. Spit on me after I refused..."

Abruptly she stopped, not because of a cough, but the choking realization that she'd actually been offered _payment for services_...and she'd been about to confess it to a chaste and civilized Jedi.

Not that he looked remotely civilized now. _Crazy Ben_ , her attackers called him. _Nerve-burner._ He looked it, hair uncut, unwashed, clothes unchanged.

How far they both had fallen.

"Do you think you could eat?" he asked. "It's been a while since you had that broth."

“How long?”

When his eyes met hers they lingered a moment with an unexpected familiarity. He stood and went to his little kitchen behind her, and soon she heard the soft clang of a pot on a stovetop.

“A day?” she pressed.

The clack of wood against metal, a spoon stirring. Sabé had a sensation of something similar occurring within her, brain and blood swirling with an all too familiar feeling of swelling panic. It spiked with each clack of the spoon as Obi-Wan remained silent. She drew in a long breath to try and steady herself, but her heart juddered, making her voice shake. “Two?”

“Hmm.”

_Two days._ Sabé lay against her pillow, the kitchen noises swallowed up by the roar in her head. She'd vowed never to lose track of time again after…Yet two more days had slipped by, and she had almost no memory of them. Only flashes, like snatches of dreams. Maybe most of it _had_ been dreams.

In either case, _he_ had been there. His voice, real or imagined, an ebb and flow that called her back from the dark and into the light. She'd lost track of two days, but Obi-Wan had not. He'd given her two days she otherwise wouldn't have had.

The panic subsided.

"You saved my life," she said, unsure whether she was referring to him fighting off her attackers, or nursing her through her illness.

Obi-Wan made no reply. The clacking sound slowed, then stopped altogether. For a moment there was only utter silence in the house. A rustle of fabric, the scuff of his bare feet on the stone floor as he moved through the kitchen.

She should thank him, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it.

Had her life been worth saving?

Another coughing fit gripped her, and she couldn't speak anyway. When it had calmed enough for her to sip water, Obi-Wan's voice reached her.

"You see?" He spoke low, as if he didn't want her to hear. "I would hardly call her cured..."

Talking to himself. Perhaps he _was_ Crazy Ben. And he’d tended her for two days, alone, while she lay in fevered madness in her underthings. Her heart pounded with the realization of how vulnerable she’d been. Still was. Moving slowly, she huddled deeper under the covers, blinking into the plain alcove wall opposite and panting from the mere effort of shifting her body. Time would tell what she’d gotten herself into this time.

And what Obi-Wan had done to end up here.

She remembered sinking, down, down, weightless into the quiet dark. Death would have been peaceful.

Maybe she didn't deserve peace. Maybe no one did.

The quiet sounds soothed her almost as a lullaby, luring her toward sleep. Here, in the middle of nowhere, with the quiet mutterings of a barefoot man behind her, perhaps she could lose herself. For a time, at least. The clack-clack-scuff-rustle-clang made her eyes close, and she drifted once more down the river, her ashes spreading from bank to bank, making the clear water murky.

A pungent aroma roused her, and her eyes opened a crack, to the slow upward swirl of smoke. She blinked away hazy memories of the Theed funeral temple, the burning Jedi temple. Broth. It was just more of the rather unpleasant-tasting broth he'd given her the other day, steaming hot. She'd rather sleep than eat it, but then her stomach rumbled.

Obi-Wan set two bowls on the table and turned to help her upright again. A flush warmed her cheeks as she felt how close one hand was to her breast as he slid her higher against the pillow and bolsters. Keeping her eyes downcast, away from his, she saw how little her thin cotton undervest left to the imagination. When he reached again for the bowls, she noticed her coveralls folded neatly on a squat trunk pushed against a synstone pillar, her boots and backpack lined up on the floor in front of it. Honestly, she couldn't believe her personal effects, such as they were, had been dumped with her at the Mos Espa Spaceport. Was her blaster still in the pack? The Auroidium ingots she'd sewn into the coveralls?

She thought briefly about asking for her clothes. But she couldn’t put them on herself, and she wouldn’t ask him to help. And anyhow, it was so hot. She settled for tugging the covers up over her breasts before taking the bowl from his waiting hand.

His hand was steady compared to hers, which shook so badly that she had to balance the soup bowl against her chest while she ate. But at least she could do it herself today.

Wavering for a moment, Obi-Wan seemed to be trying to decide where to sit. At length he chose the edge of the bed at her feet. He ate quickly, slurping from his spoon like a man used to being alone. Sabé tried not to watch him, but her eyes kept coming back to his unshaven neck, the roll of the swallow, over and over again. His eyes stayed on his soup. It was so quiet here she could hear the tinny whine in her ears--damage from years of close-range weapons use.

For all the good that training had done when it mattered most.

To drown out the sound, she said, "The soup's not bad. Once you get used to the taste."

Obi-Wan lifted his eyes to her, his brow twitching upward in the ghost of an expression she'd seen before. When those eyes had glinted with ready humor. They were dull grey now, and didn't look as though he'd laughed in a long time.

He grunted and bent over his bowl again.

"What is it?" she eyed a chunk of white meat floating in the broth.

"Snake."

Broth trickled off her spoon. Her stomach gurgled. She'd had worse, she told herself. Much worse. She scooped more, although she avoided the meat, and sipped.

"Do you catch them?" Sabé cringed, and not from the taste. She'd presided over state dinners as the Queen of Naboo, and _this_ was the best conversation she could make?

She'd dined with him, too, when they were stranded. Here on Tatooine, no less. A lifetime ago. She'd been eighteen. A child.

Obi-Wan swallowed and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I made a minnow trap. And I use canned fish eggs...as…bait.”

He looked away, his cheeks reddening as though he, too, was appalled by the lack of civility in what could hardly be called dinner conversation. Did he remember taking a meal with her on the broken-down ship? What had they eaten then? What had they talked about?

That was all too painful to think about, but Sabé bit down on the urge to ask how he got the snake out once it was trapped. Was this all he had to eat? Even his overgrown beard didn't conceal how lean his face had become, and his tunic hung loosely from his broad shoulders.

Fortunately for her, Obi-Wan stood just then to take his bowl back to the kitchen, where a scrape and a clink told her he’d placed it and his spoon into something--perhaps a sonic dishwasher. There were more clangs and rustlings as he put the soup pot back in the refrigeration unit. By the time he returned to her sickbed, she’d finished as much as she could. She didn’t want to rush her recovery and vomit again.

“Do you need the ‘fresher?” he asked.

She didn’t want him to have to help her hobble over to it again, but she hadn’t much choice. Nodding, she felt her cheeks burn even before he swept an arm under hers and bodily lifted her. Together, they shuffled back up to the ‘fresher, Sabé keeping her eyes on their bare feet as she concentrated on each step. Once she was inside the small tiled room and leaning more or less safely on the sink, he stepped out and closed the door.

Now that she had privacy, Sabé sagged, letting her head hang over the basin. For a few moments all she could do was breathe, until her lightheadedness reminded her that she’d better attend to the necessities before she passed out. Afterwards, she washed her hands and splashed a little water on her face, taking care not to use too much. She stood upright and let the rest run down her neck, finally checking her appearance in the mirror.

Barely more than skin and bones. She looked away and opened the door.

Obi-Wan was there. He quickly stepped inside and threw her arm over his shoulders. She didn’t pass out, but her ears buzzed and her vision blurred at the edges by the time he returned her to the bed.

"Thanks," she mumbled while the buzzing abated. If he replied, she didn't hear it over the rustle of blankets as he pulled them over her.

Her eyes had closed, but she felt him standing over her. She opened them a slit to see him cradling his forehead, tangled hair falling over his hand, elbow propped on the other arm folded across his body. He yawned, and for the first time it occurred to her that if he'd been taking care of her for two days, he might not have slept. It might have been the first time he'd eaten. Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes, and she sniffed.

His head came up, and she screwed her eyes shut, praying he didn't see her crying.

"I've got to go out and check the vaporator and feed the eopie. Will you be all right?"

Sabé nodded her head, the pillow rustling beneath it. "I'll just sleep," she said, but her voice was creaky from the knot in her throat and she thought she might only have managed to get out _sleep_. Oh well, he would understand.

She listened to the scuff of his soles away from her. The slither of working leather boots on. The swish of fabric, probably his cloak. And finally, the clunk of a lock turning, a metal door creaking open, then latching shut again. Leaving Sabé alone and in silence.

Perhaps she'd always been alone. Perhaps she'd open her eyes and find she was still locked in Saw Gererra's brig. Or her cell on Dathomir. Or the dungeon ship. Or the room on Coruscant, where it all began.

When she closed them, the river was waiting.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Obi-Wan lifted the lid of a duraplast bin, releasing into the dim cellar a musty odor which wasn't strictly the earthy smell of root vegetables. At the bottom lay a couple of small potatoes and onions, scarcely enough to scrounge up another day's nourishment for himself, let alone a houseguest recovering from illness. Sabé's appetite was returning, and with it her strength, though she still had far to go and remained alarmingly thin. It would take more than snake soup to restore her to full health.

With a grimace he leaned in for closer inspection. Sprouts had begun to emerge from the dimpled skins of the potatoes, and his fingers sank into mushy spots in the onions. _Waste not, want not_ were words to live by on Tatooine, so he carried the potatoes to the workbench, found his knife, and began to slice off the spoiled parts. He had proper paring knives in the kitchen, but Sabé's watchful eyes, now that she was free of fever, didn't seem to miss a detail, even if she seldom passed comment. She didn't need to know he was feeding her nearly rotten potatoes as well as the snake she found so unappealing.

After so long with only a ghost as part-time visitor to his hovel, Obi-Wan found it unnerving to live under such close scrutiny. Growing up in the Temple, he should've been used to it--welcomed it, even--but this felt different. He kept to his daily routine as best he could, partially to give Sabé as much privacy as possible while she rested and recovered in the tiny space, but more to avoid the eyes that always seemed to be on him when she wasn't asleep.Thankfully, he slept a good deal of the time, too.

A chuckle broke the silence of the cellar. “Careful what you wish for. Isn’t that the saying?”

"I'm glad one of us finds this situation amusing." Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon's translucent form hovering in front of the workbench. "She nearly died. And I'm hardly in a position to nurse her back to health." The snick of his knife, followed by the soft plop of potato skin in a small compost bin, punctuated his statement.

"Is it Sabé for whom you're most concerned?" Qui-Gon asked. "Or yourself?"

"You know I'm not worried about myself."

"Yes, that's evident from the state of your pantry."

Obi-Wan didn’t have to see his Master’s face to know it was etched with concern. His physical well-being was an old argument that they mostly conducted in silence now.

"I'd planned to buy a few things on my last trip to Mos Espa," he retorted, "but then I decided to play the hero."

"Old habits die hard."

"You're just full of platitudes today. Permit me one: perhaps this old dog _should_ learn new tricks." _Snick, plop._ "If anything happens to me at the hands of an assassin houseguest, it could spell disaster for Luke."

Wiping the knife blade on his shirt, Obi-Wan shuffled around the desk to the north wall and scratched another tally mark. They lined the wall at the foot of the stairs, straight and evenly spaced, like rank on rank of soldiers. Four notches with a diagonal slash denoted a standard week; tomorrow would complete the second since Sabé crossed his path.

"You sense danger from her?" Qui-Gon persisted.

Obi-Wan let out a long breath. Not precisely. Not immediately. He wasn’t certain _what_ he sensed; the Force to him felt like a stagnant pool drying up under the desert suns.

He scuffed back to Qui-Gon and lay the knife on the workbench, but kept his fingers on the handle as he tried to think. From his search of her belongings he'd concluded that Sabé had no way of contacting anyone beyond the walls of his hovel. Still, his mind wouldn't rest, no matter the physical evidence or the lack of disturbance in the Force.

"Could it possibly be mere coincidence,” he said at length, “that of all the planets in the galaxy, Sabé would be abandoned by a freighter crew on Tatooine?"

“You know my feelings about coincidence.”

Obi-Wan _hmm_ ed. One might as well ask why Luke had wound up here, and by extension his Jedi protector. The depth and breadth of coincidence seemed almost comical. Holoplays had less dramatic irony.

But what purpose could the Force have in bringing Sabé here, now? They had little to offer themselves, much less each other. Nevertheless, the skin on the back of his neck prickled in expectation, just as it had before battle. He knew he had to heed his body’s alert, but he had no idea whether the warning meant danger or something else entirely.

“Wait, young one,” came Qui-Gon’s reply, as if Obi-Wan had spoken aloud. “Just wait.”

Obi-Wan smiled blandly, finally letting go of the knife to scoop up the potatoes. "Waiting is my speciality."

As he trudged back up the stairs and shut the trap door behind him, he realized his bare feet had grown uncomfortably cold. The desert temperatures managed to punish at all hours, frying one’s brain during the day and freezing a body to its core at night. He stooped to switch on the space heater and put the potatoes into a bowl, which he slid into the refrigeration unit before standing again.

Only then did he see that the room beyond the kitchen nook was empty.

An echo of panic shuddered through his chest, until he heard a thump in the ‘fresher behind him. He whipped his head around to find the door shut and soon recognized the sounds of Sabé puttering around in there.

He let out a long sigh.

Fool…Of course she wouldn't have left. Night had all but fallen, and she wasn't strong enough yet to walk farther than from the bed to the 'fresher and back. She hadn't set foot outside the door since he'd half-dragged her through it.

As difficult as it had been to adjust to his new life of solitude on Tatooine, the unexpected addition of a companion was a disruption that made him aware of how he'd come to depend on the monotony. With the galaxy in turmoil, the sameness of his days was an uncommon luxury. He knew this.

But now a mystery used his ‘fresher, slept in his bed, ate his food. He turned to the alcove at the back of the kitchen to take stock of the pantry shelves, but Sabé's face haunted him. He recognized himself in the guarded eyes, the tight lips, of one branded a traitor.

A traitor to whom? That was the question he'd been asking himself and Qui-Gon for days.

He retrieved the battered pad of yellowed paper and his chewed-up pencil from a shelf. It hardly bore writing down what he needed, for he’d run out of all the staples, yet he scribbled furiously anyway, to block out the voice reverberating in the back of his mind that he was as much a danger to himself as Sabé might be if he neglected his health. Through the wall, pipes groaned as she ran the 'fresher sink. He'd have to take her with him, he supposed, chewing the end of the pencil. She wasn't well enough to be left alone, even if he thought he could trust her.

The only part of her story she'd offered voluntarily was the most recent bit: that when the Dentari flu symptoms manifested, the captain of the freighter she'd been working aboard abandoned her in Mos Espa; she'd been looking for antibiotics when Obi-Wan found her. Everything else he'd gleaned were fevered ramblings which gave him more questions than answers.

At times she'd seemed to think they were fifteen years in the past, stranded in the desert on Padmé’s damaged ship. Those moments had been her most lucid. Mostly she was incoherent, his mind only able to catch snippets of anguished pleas. _Release me_ , she’d repeated, and he’d initially thought that she begged for death...but perhaps she'd meant it literally. Had she been a prisoner? At other times she’d cried, _Choose me_ , whose meaning he couldn’t divine whatsoever. But the most recurrent words were a variation of _keeping her secrets_. Whose secrets? Padmé’s, probably, but could he be sure?

She’d most certainly been on the run. Why else would a former Naboo Handmaiden be reduced to stealing her way across the galaxy onboard cargo vessels? She’d even cut her long hair and wore the coveralls of the most common ship grunt.

Then again, Sabé was no stranger to living a lie. To dressing the part.

The flow of water abruptly stopped as she shut off the 'fresher sink. Obi-Wan turned and stared at the door, listening to the trickle of water in the pipes as he expected her to emerge at any moment.

Was she even now completing a mission? Instead of running _from_ something, as he’d thought, perhaps she ran _toward_ something? Perhaps Bail Organa had sent her...Obi-Wan's heart leapt that there might be some use for him after all...But he hadn't the strength to linger in that hopeful plane, falling back to the parched earth with the more likely purpose for her presence on Tatooine: the assassination of the last Jedi.

It wasn’t so far-fetched an idea that, to protect family and friends, she might bargain her considerable skills in service to the Empire. She'd mumbled other names, Dormé and Motée featuring almost as frequently as Padmé in her addled thoughts. He could hardly blame her for trading his life for theirs, if she believed, like the rest of the galaxy, that he'd murdered their mistress.

No, that didn’t feel right, either. Darkness trailed Sabé, certainly, but no more than it did him. Not a traitor...simply another pitiful soul who'd been betrayed.

Misery loved company, or so the old adage went, but in this case Obi-Wan doubted its veracity. She'd been as surprised to recognize him in Mos Espa as he had--and too ill for it to be an act. And in need of care as she had been, and still was, she hadn't willingly gone with him; the ache in his jaw from her fist had been a testament to that for almost the first week.

Why was she here?

She had yet to emerge from the 'fresher. Was she all right? This was the longest she'd been out of bed.

Before he could make up his mind whether to offer assistance, a low-frequency pulse emitted from within the ‘fresher.

The sonic shower.

For a moment he could only stand there, blinking at the closed door.

He’d seen Sabé practically naked, of course, for two full days as he cared for her, coming to know her body better than a near stranger ever should. It was odd, indeed, to have a better map of her freckles and scars than of her mind.

Or the outline of dark hair visible through the pale cotton of her underwear.

Obi-Wan turned from the door as if it had suddenly opened to offer him a full view of her. His imagination required no such visual aid to picture her without even the scrap of modesty her undergarments had provided as he'd bathed her burning skin. The space heater must've kicked in, but he wasn't fool enough to blame it for the fever that took hold of him. He switched it off, put away pencil and notepad, and padded to the opposite end of the house, where a snatch of the evening cool hovered at the front door.

Dropping to the floor, he closed his eyes with crossed legs and hands on knees, breathing the Force in and his physical body out. All Jedi felt temptation from time to time. It was a natural response to proximity and a pleasing form. He acknowledged that Sabé’s pleased him, then he let that feeling go.

Deeper he went, the Force an ocean of unexplored wonders whose full depths he hadn’t plumbed completely even after two years of solitude. The inside of his consciousness melded with the outside of his subconscious, and every once in a while he’d drop through a crevasse and drift even deeper. There were mountains and valleys there, the ripples of a landscape of such foreign familiarity, like the rumpled covers of someone else’s bed, like--

 _Like a woman’s body_.

He breathed. Breathed again. Reached for the ocean floor...but now he wasn’t certain which way was down. The current rolled him until he faced upward and saw two suns, shimmering through the tops of the waves, though Tatooine had no ocean. Where was he?

The impulse to gasp for breath overwhelmed him, and he felt dizzy.

But it wasn’t his own dizziness. He shot to his feet and was at the kitchen step just as Sabé swayed.

"I've got you," he heard himself say, and she gasped as though he'd hoisted her up out of churning water. She panted in hot puffs against his neck. "Deep breaths," he instructed, as much for his own benefit as for hers, drawing a long inhale that caught a whiff of her clean hair; it tickled his nose.

Gradually, as with a gentle lapping around his feet and ankles, their breathing synchronized, and the meditation scene receded. For all the good it had done, now that those soft breasts he'd tried not to picture rose and fell against his chest, her narrow waist encircled by his arms.

He wanted to let her go, sensed a similar desire to pull away in the tension of her arms and shoulders, but he couldn't until she was steady on her feet again. Instead, he focused on the throb in his collarbone where her forehead leaned. The fabric beneath his hands was coarse but lightweight, not the heavy canvas of her coveralls, and he noticed, belatedly, that she wore the old shirt and trousers he'd offered last week to replace the ruined coveralls. Up till now she'd worn her own clothes anyway. Being clean, finally, must have broken her resolve not to accept more of his charity than she already had.

With a deep indrawn breath, Sabé raised her head, tried to take a step back from him, pressing back against his arms. He loosened his hold, but didn't release her right away.

"It's passed," she said. "I'm fine now."

Obi-Wan was dubious, but she reached out for the dividing wall beside the steps so he withdrew his arms from around her and let her make her halting way across the room. In another time, he would have insisted on helping her. When he'd been another man.

A cleaner man, at any rate. When was the last time _he'd_ showered? Or changed clothes? Or washed the bed sheets? The ghost of a snort niggled at him until he focused outward again.

His old clothing fit her rather well. The shirt hung too broad over her shoulders, but she only had to turn up the hems of the sleeves and trousers once, which hid their fraying edges. Now that she’d showered away the sweat, oil, and grime, she looked a bit more like her old self. Structurally, at least.

Who would she see if he washed away the dust?

Sabé sat gingerly on the single chair beside the bed, her bare feet on the wooly bantha hide rug. For a moment, Obi-Wan wavered near the step, wondering whether he ought to start on the next day's meal preparation. But if he did chores ahead of time, he’d have that much less to do tomorrow, and the days were already so long.

At length, Sabé decided the matter for him.

“I need to ask you something.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. When she didn’t immediately speak, or even turn to face him, he sighed and went to his trunk, tugging it away from the wall to sit across from her.

“I think--” she began, then cut herself off, not meeting his eyes. She was so quiet for so long that he wasn’t certain she would continue at all. Finally, she blurted out, “I’m sure I should’ve died.”

She looked at him then, her gaze boring into him until he dropped his eyes to his hands. There was a dark smudge on the back of his thumb, and he rubbed at it with the other. The stain wouldn’t come off, but it gave him something to do while she stared at him.

“I need to know," Sabé began again. "Did you--”

Another pass of one thumb across the other.

“Did you...use the Force to save me?”

Obi-Wan's hands hung limp between his knees. It was difficult to imagine that these hands had channeled anything good into anyone. Or drawn anything bad out.

He could almost hear Qui-Gon telling him to answer her. He nodded.

Another silence stretched between them. Sabé's toes scrunched into the rug.

“ _Why?_ ” she asked.

He looked up, surprised by the turn this had taken. "I...couldn't let you die."

"Because that isn't the Jedi way?"

Was that a hint of mockery he detected, giving her words a knife edge? Or was it accusation? She continued to stare at him. Looking for some sign that he _was_ a Jedi. Obi-Wan looked down again, not wanting to see the moment she found it. Or didn't.

"Maybe I deserved to die," Sabé said, her voice hoarse and pinched as it had been when he first heard it in Mos Espa. "You don't know what I might've done."

That was true. He didn't. The only thing he _did_ know was that when the crucial moment came of making the choice to let her die or try to save her, he hadn't cared what she deserved. If she'd died, he would have been alone again. He couldn't bring himself to choose loneliness.

"Well," he said. "That isn't for me to decide."

His chest wrenched with the realization that it hadn’t exactly been his right to make that choice for her, either. _Release me_ , she’d begged.

And he’d selfishly answered her plea with his own: _Stay_.

Feeling her eyes still on him, he glanced up. Sabé had leaned forward with elbows on knees, waiting, like she needed more, as if he’d intentionally withheld some crucial piece of information. Seeing her in his old shirt and trousers, with that short hair, he couldn’t help thinking of Anakin, and how much he’d needed, too.

Obi-Wan was tired of failing people.

“I’d like to pick up some supplies in Mos Espa tomorrow morning,” he said. “It’ll take a good half day. Do you think you’re up to riding the eopie?”

She drew herself up and leaned back in the chair, sighing. “I suppose.”

“Good.” He stood and dragged the trunk back to its proper spot. Standing with hands on hips, he stared at it, felt the tug of his lightsaber from within, and the dark scream of its brother next to it. “We should get some sleep.”

Sabé made no reply. Obi-Wan waited until he heard the rustling sounds that indicated she'd risen from the chair and climbed into bed before he turned around. He tucked the chair under the living room table and spread out his bedroll in its usual place, aware of the dark eyes watching his every move. Still waiting for him to do or say something. Stars only knew what.

He took off his belt and coiled it on the trunk like a snake.

"You’re on the mend. You won’t have to stay here much longer," he said, and attempted to smile. But he was out of practice, and it slipped from his face as he saw Sabé's go a shade whiter.

"What do you mean?"

Obi-Wan trailed his fingers over his mustache, unsure how to begin. "I assumed you'd want to find another crew. Tatooine wasn't your intended destination, was it?" He tried to sound casual and thought he’d succeeded.

Again she stared, then, finally, shook her head. It might've been in answer to his question...but it also could've been in response to his assumption. He'd only meant to show her that although he hadn't given her much choice about coming here, he wasn't keeping her. Perhaps he'd been unclear? Or maybe she'd seen through him and knew he was fishing for information.

And they'd called him The Negotiator.

Before he could clarify, Sabé drew the bedclothes up to her chin and rolled onto her side, with her back to him, delivering her parting shot: “Tatooine is the perfect place to dump a sick woman.”

~*~

Morning came, as it always did, too early. The suns began to bake Obi-Wan’s house as soon as they’d peeped over the horizon, slanting in through the windows and heating the domed roof.

Today it seemed dimmer than usual, though it wasn't the rainy season. He opened his eyes to find that the source of the shadow was Sabé standing over him as she zipped up her backpack. She wore her filthy coveralls again. His borrowed clothing lay folded on top of his trunk next to his discarded belt. Before he could question her, she set the pack down--a soft thunk told him her blaster was inside--and crossed to the kitchen, where the smell of frying snake sausage finally penetrated his nostrils.

Obi-Wan sat up and twisted around. “We should’ve washed your clothes.”

“No time for that,” she replied as she turned the slices over with a wooden spatula.

Turning back, he stared at his own feet poking out from under the blanket. He could argue that she should wear his clothes and they’d wash hers in the cellar laundry unit during their trip to Mos Espa...but perhaps she wanted to leave today. She wouldn’t want to take anything of his with her if she could help it.

With a yawn, he stretched and stood, stretched again, and cracked his back. A thought flitted through his mind that he wouldn't mind sleeping in his own bed again, only for his brows to draw together in shame that he could be so selfish. He'd endured worse than the floor, and for worse causes.

He went to the 'fresher. When he emerged, Sabé had finished cooking breakfast and served it on the dining table that had stood unused the entire time she'd been here. The plates were by no means heaping, but somehow she'd taken the meager offerings of his kitchen and turned them into an appetizing meal: sausage, fried potatoes, and flatbread.

For a moment Obi-Wan couldn't speak. He never cooked a proper breakfast for himself. She'd even found the tea he'd all but forgotten was on the top shelf, steam curling upward from the dark brewed contents of two mugs. How long had it been since he'd sat across a table with another person? This would be the last time, if she didn't intend to return from Mos Espa with him. Which, he supposed, was probably why he'd avoided anything like this with her altogether.  

"You needn't have gone to so much trouble." At once he knew it had been the wrong thing to say, Sabé's thin shoulders stiffening beneath the coveralls. Her jaw muscle worked.

"No more trouble than you've gone to for me. I used up the last of your flour, but since you're getting supplies anyway…."

"It's fine. This will fortify us for the journey."

The journey to Mos Espa, at any rate. But where would Sabé's end? A stab of worry pierced his chest as he saw how frail she still appeared. The tilt of her jaw and the matter-of-fact way she drew the trunk around as a seat told him he’d better not comment.

Finally settling in his old dining chair, Obi-Wan picked up his bent fork, met her eyes briefly, and they began to eat. Silence was easier than conversation, but it felt as though there was too much unsaid. Too much _he_ hadn’t said, or asked. But if she spoke, he’d have to reply, and he wasn’t sure he could. Or should.

Besides, the time for that, as for all things here, had passed. Someone had once told him that after one grew to adulthood, or had children, then the days were long, the years short. For him, every bit of it was long. He ran a hand over his mustache and nearly chuckled to himself. Speaking of long.

Perhaps he _was_ going mad, as they all said. He’d been alone for too long and had grown wild.

He returned his gaze to Sabé and the way she held her utensil--she’d given herself the one with the bent tines--so prim and proper, as though she were still the Queen. But her face, so pale and drawn, closed in on itself, perhaps to better protect whatever secrets she still held.

Although he didn't want the meal to end, strange and silent as it was, and was barely aware of actually putting food on his fork and into his mouth--a shame, when it was likely the tastiest meal he'd have for….some time--he looked down and discovered that his plate was empty. Across the table, Sabé's still contained about half her food, but when Obi-Wan set down his fork, she lay hers diagonally across her plate.

"Sabé," he said. "Are you--"

"Fine. Just not used to big meals."

She looked a little nauseated, he thought, studying her, and if that was the case, a four-hour eopie ride under the blistering suns wouldn't help matters.

However, she was steady enough on her feet when she cleared both plates off the table and carried them to the kitchen. She covered her leftovers and placed them in the refrigeration unit, muttering, "For later." Did she mean for herself? His heart leapt at the thought, only to plummet again when he considered she might be leaving them for him. In a few minutes, everything else had been loaded into the sonic dishwasher, and nothing remained for them to do but fill water canteens, tug on boots, and saddle up the eopie.  

And find his list.

"Are you sure you made one?" Sabé asked, watching him search the kitchen shelves for his notepad, to no avail.

"Yes, I'm sure," he snapped, more testily than the situation warranted. He patted the pockets of his clothes, the same ones he'd been wearing at the time. "I made it while you were in the…"

Face prickling hot, Obi-Wan scuffed out of the kitchen, down the step into the living area, as he had when she was in the shower. It wasn't on the bedside table, or the display table by the front door, or on any of the wall nooks, or the floor where he'd meditated. He even checked under the furniture and the rug. Straightening up again, he huffed in frustration. They didn't have time for unnecessary scavenger hunts, or doing things over, if they were to make it to Mos Espa before the heat of the day--

"Is this it?"

He looked back across the hut to where Sabé stood in the hall by the side door, holding up a yellowed pad.

"It was in your cloak pocket," she said.

"How did it get there?" He crossed to snatch it from her hand and ripped the page off, then stuffed it back into his cloak pocket. “I suppose I had that coming.”

“What?”

“Your snooping in my cloak.”

“You did.” The corner of her mouth twitched. "At least you don't have to sew it back up."

“True.” He went to the pantry and replaced the pad on the shelf where it belonged. “Oh, and you’re welcome for the needle and thread.”

“I can pay you for those,” she gritted out, “as I’m sure you saw from the ingots you found stashed in my inseam.”

Obi-Wan whirled around, intending to return a barb...but held his tongue when he saw how quickly Sabé’s chest was rising and falling as she stared at the wall where his cloak hung.

She’d only just recovered from a nasty respiratory infection, and here he was, needling her--about a _needle_ , no less, and one she’d promptly returned to him after she’d repaired the hidden seams he’d ripped apart in his paranoia.

Pressing his lips together, he went toward the door and reached past her to retrieve his cloak from its hook, patting the pocket once more to make sure the list was there. Sabé, still sounding as though she was trying to catch her breath, ducked past him to get her backpack from the living room.

“Let’s go,” she said.

"Ladies first." He pushed open the door and gestured with a sweep of his arm toward the sunlit yard beyond.

As she strode past him, he could hear her rapid breathing. Ragged inhalations that made him wonder if she was going to have another coughing fit. Shouldering his own pack containing the canteens, he watched the dust clouding up when her boots hit the ground below the stone step. She stopped, stared down at it.

"Do you not sense her distress, Obi-Wan?" came Qui-Gon's voice at his shoulder.

“Of course I do,” snapped Obi-Wan. The Force pulsed erratically, like a drum, or a wildly pounding heart. “What could I possibly do about it?”

Sabé--had she heard him?--turned back to face Obi-Wan, still in the dim hallway, and for a moment she looked like an image in a painting, the dark outline of his doorway contrasting sharply with her sun-blanched skin. A terrible lurch in his gut took him back to Naboo, where another scene was framed for him by energy fields that would not let him pass. _Choose me!_ he’d wanted to shout.

An echo of a voice in his ear brought him back. "Have these suns burned away your compassion?"

His feet were out the door before he could instruct them to carry him there. When he reached Sabé, her breaths came in awful hisses, as though her throat were closing off, the ropy muscles of her neck straining with each desperate intake of air. He dropped his pack and took her by the arms, barely aware that he called her name as he tried to make her look into his eyes.

“No. No,” she kept saying. “I can’t. It’s--I can’t.”

When she slid downward he had no choice but to follow her to the ground, where they sat knee to knee as she hyperventilated.

“You don’t have to go,” he heard himself say, and with the words a pinch he hadn’t realized was in his chest released a little. “You don’t have to leave.”

“I can’t--”

Now he was wiping the sweat from her forehead with a thumb. He pulled his hand back. It was one thing to do that for someone unconscious, someone who needed his help. But Sabé had recovered, and now--apparently--she required a different kind of help. Perhaps if he kept talking.

“Shh. It’s all right. There’s no rush.”

He wasn’t certain what else he said, but he focused on keeping his tone low and non-threatening, as though speaking to a spooked gualaar. After a minute or two, her breathing slowed, though he still felt the hammering in the Force--her panic, unwilling to retreat.

Now Sabé inhaled through her nostrils, exhaled through pursed lips. Finally her glazed eyes met his, and she nodded. Gently, he slipped a hand under her elbow and helped her to stand. He smiled as he realized his breathing had synchronized with hers, or perhaps hers had with his. Whatever the catalyst, she was starting to calm down.

He turned her toward the eopie pen and began to walk her there.

“Still, we do need supplies,” he pointed out. “Will you--”

It was the wrong thing to say. With unexpected strength, she shoved his chest so that he fell onto his backside. She lost her footing in the dry sand and fell, too, abandoning her backpack as she crawled toward his door, kicking up dust as she went.

Coughing, Obi-Wan threw up an elbow to protect his eyes. He reached out blindly and his hand caught her boot, which he grabbed instinctively. Shouting her name, he bear-crawled until he hovered over her, grasped her arm too tightly. With a flexibility he hadn’t known she possessed, she bent her other leg and, planting the boot on his hipbone, pushed hard. He fell again into the sand...

...just as a high-pitched hum penetrated his hearing. Pivoting where he lay, he saw the speeder, the dark head of the driver watching the drama unfold as he approached.

Sabé was having an anxiety attack, and _now_ the neighbors had decided to drop by for a visit.

Obi-Wan pushed to his feet and dusted off his clothes. "I'm a hermit," he muttered between coughs. "Don’t people understand hermits are supposed to be left alone?"


	4. Chapter 4

Drowning. She was drowning again--but not in water, unless her own tears counted.

_Breathe,_ Sabé told herself. _Just breathe._ She gasped for air, but sand rushed into her mouth instead, each grain stinging like the barbs of the electrobatons the Troopers had wielded so readily. Coughing, she collapsed face-down in the sand, felt it clumping on her cheeks. A mockery of the red paint she'd worn as Queen Amidala.

Beneath the choking, wheezing sounds that tore from her throat, the drum of her pulse in her ears, a man's voice rumbled. _Obi-Wan._ Fighting off her attackers in the street. _No._ That was before. They were at his house now, his house where he'd taken her, and held her....

_Helped_ her.

Healed her _._

_Breathe._

_"You don't have to leave,"_ he'd said.

_Liar._ Everyone lied to her.

She spat, bile acrid in her throat. Clamped her lips together, teeth baring down until she tasted salt. Tears, or blood? The red painted line.

_You were the Queen,_ she told herself. Not a sniveling wretch who cowered in the dirt. He was a Jedi. The Jedi served. _Command him._

Raising her head, she turned it toward the suns. The shadows of two men stretched across the barren hillside toward her. _His accomplice_. Now wasn’t the time to be surrounded. Blinking into the glare, she pressed her hands into the granular sand beneath her, planted a foot, and rose. Drew herself up.

She only stumbled a little as she picked up her pack and approached them. A landspeeder hovered to one side, a kid staring wide-eyed in the passenger seat. He waved.

Sabé’s eyebrows twitched in confusion. Did accomplices often bring children to an apprehension? Then again, Naboo had child monarchs. _She_ had been trained to handle weaponry at that age. Younger. The weight of her blaster in her pack reassured her.

The other man appeared to be about the same age as Obi-Wan, perhaps younger. A few inches shorter, stockier maybe, though the layers of coarse clothing made it difficult to tell. Clean-shaven with a head of wild, dark hair. His eyes kept darting to her as he spoke quietly to her captor. Savior. Whoever he was.

Obi-Wan glanced back, the lines of his face softening as his gaze touched her. The nape of Sabé’s neck prickled, and she scrubbed at the sweaty hair sticking below her collar. Caked sand gritted against the pads of her fingers. She must look a sight, with the dust and drying tears on her face. Not that she'd been concerned in a long time about how she looked to anyone else.

The newcomer was staring at her. Scrutinizing.

"The kid at the junk shop's been telling everyone about you," he said, accent flat. Tatooine, Sabé thought, a dialect still foreign to her. Her shoulders tensed, and she found herself drawing closer to Obi-Wan's familiarity.

She started to reply, but coughed. Swallowed to subdue it. Hitched an eyebrow in question instead.

"I wasn't sure I believed him," the stranger went on. "Sounded like something out of a holodrama. The idea of Ben here getting into a street fight with some of Jabba's thugs and riding off into the sunset with a woman..."

A movement in her periphery as Obi-Wan brought a hand up to rub his beard. Was his cheek red?  

"Dojj wouldn't have romanticized it if he'd taken the flatulent eopie into account," he said.

A burst of laughter startled Sabé. As it echoed in the rocky valley, she watched the boy in the speeder, who continued to snicker at Obi-Wan's joke. He had dark hair and eyes like the man--his father?--but a fair complexion where the man's had olive tones. His cheeks were already red under the morning suns. He needed to pull his hood up.

The stranger grunted, and Sabé returned her attention to him. “Ben,” he addressed Obi-Wan, eyes serious. “They’re saying she was unconscious when you took her.”

“She can speak for herself,” Sabé said. “And yes, I suppose I was. I was ill.”

The man stared at her as though trying to read more deeply into her words. “Sorry. I’m Simuel Starfall. Call me Sim.” He held out a hand.

“My name is Sabé.”

When she didn’t clasp his hand, he withdrew it. “You’re not from here.”

She shook her head.

Sim nodded, accepting that she didn’t wish to discuss it further and taking another tack. “It looked like you and Ben were having a...disagreement just now. Are you all right?”

His gaze relentless, she turned toward Obi-Wan, whose face now blazed red as he stared at the cracked leather toes of his boots. But he offered nothing in his own defense. Not at all the behavior of a man who intended her harm.

It must gall to him to be mistrusted.

Of course, he was accused of worse.

“I’ve been ill,” Sabé repeated. “Certain things are still...hard for me. Going outside, for instance.”

Sim's eyebrows went up.

“We were about to ride into Mos Espa for supplies,” she added, wishing Obi-Wan would join the conversation, though Sim seemed more interested what she had to say. "You can imagine how returning to the place where I was attacked…"

She trailed off, breath juddering and making her voice tremble. That was not at all what had triggered her panic, and Obi-Wan knew it, though he turned his bowed head slightly to give her a grateful look.

"Sure," said Sim. "But you feel safe here? In the middle of the Jundland Wastes?" _With him?_ he seemed to ask silently.

Over his shoulder, his son mouthed, _Crazy Ben_ while circling his finger at the side of his head.

Bristling, Sabé glanced at Obi-Wan and was almost relieved to see his gaze still downcast. The surge of loyalty perplexed her. She was leery of him, after all, and with good reason: he talked to himself frequently, pausing as though he were actually having a conversation. If the Starfalls had ever witnessed this behavior, in addition to whatever rumors circulated about him in town, they'd be justified in thinking him...unhinged.

Were they really here because Sim had heard about her and worried? For a complete stranger? Until Obi-Wan came to her aid in the market, the kindest thing anyone had done for her was not to steal her blaster when they dumped her on a dangerous Outer Rim planet. If she wanted, she could probably board that speeder, and the Starfalls would take her….someplace else. Not here.

But for all she knew, they worked for the Hutts, too.

Her pulse quickened again at the unknown. The sand crunched beneath her boots as she shuffled backward a step, closer to Obi-Wan's house. Slightly behind his shoulder.

"Ben's an old friend," she offered, hoping her use of his alias didn't sound as strange as it felt on her tongue. "We've known each other since we were..." _A Jedi Padawan and a Royal Handmaiden._ Obi-Wan wouldn't be the only one they'd think was mad if she said that. "...young."

She prayed that explanation would be enough for Sim to leave her alone. Her mouth and throat felt as dry as the air. She darted out her tongue to moisten her cracked lips. This was the most she'd spoken since she'd arrived on Tatooine. Longer. She felt herself withering under the suns. How did Obi-Wan stand it here? It was all she could do not to lean into him, to rest her forehead on his shoulder to block out the blinding light.

“Wulfric!” Sim called. “Grab the stuff, will you?”

The boy stood up in the speeder and reached behind the seat for a duraplast crate of the sort that milk might be delivered in. With a grace surprising for his apparent age and gangly limbs--he couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen--he stepped onto the side of the vehicle and leapt down, bounding over to the adults like a kaadu.

“Here, Dad.” He shoved the box at Sim.

Now that he was closer, Sabé could see the high cheekbones and full lips of his father. He shuffled his feet as he tried not to stare at her and Obi-Wan.

“My wife Mari made a nerfherd’s pie,” said Sim, offering the crate to Sabé. “As a welcome. And there’s something else there you might need.”

A folded bit of grey gauze, perhaps a scarf, lay atop a covered pie plate. But what caught her eye were the items tucked in at the corners of the crate.

“We found some fresh jogan fruit at the market yesterday. And there's milk. That's what we do, actually, raise eopies. Wulfric and I were in the neighborhood making deliveries.”

"Jogan fruit's from Coruscant, isn't it?" asked Wulfric, shaking the fringe out of his eyes. "You two sound Coruscanti--are you?"

"Don't be nosy, Wulfie."

"Isn't that why we came here?"

"A lot of Core Worlders sound like them." Sim grinned, but it was obvious he was embarrassed by his son saying too much. "Not like us yokels."  

Sabé actually _wanted_ to speak now, to thank him, but couldn't. Her throat, already dry from talking and thirst, ached with emotion.

"You're very kind," Obi-Wan said, his voice pinched. "This will help Sabé get her strength up." He gave her a little smile, and she nodded. "Please...thank Mari."

"What are neighbors for?" asked Sim, putting his hand on Wulfric's shoulder. The boy grinned, making his father smile reflexively, and Sabé thought she’d never seen anything more true and pure.

She was in danger of sobbing.

“Excuse me,” she choked out. “The heat--”

She turned and stumbled toward the side door.

Once more inside the cool dark, she allowed herself to break, clinging to the crate as though it were as precious as a child. By the time Obi-Wan joined her, she’d recovered and slid the milk and pie into the refrigeration unit for later. Although he glanced in her direction, he didn't speak; he seemed to need a moment to collect himself, too.

Leaving him to it, she examined the length of grey cloth Sim's wife had sent her. It was, indeed, a scarf. Something crackled within the folds; a scrap of paper fluttered out. She caught it before it hit the floor, opening it to reveal feminine handwriting, Outer Rim Basic, which Sabé fortunately could read.

_Welcome, Stranger. If you need a safe place--_

Almost guiltily, Sabé darted a look at Obi-Wan, but his back was to her as he pulled off his boots and cloak. He moved wearily, as though he really had made a half-day's journey across the desert when they hadn't even left the yard. Sabé darted her eyes back to the paper in her trembling hand.

_\--our homestead is about fifteen kilometers west of you, just before you reach the Xelric Draw. Keep between the hills, with the mountains on your left. Watch out for Tusken Raiders. Good luck._

_Mari_

She pocketed the note with a pounding heart and refolded the scarf as Obi-Wan came into the kitchen. She could examine the message again later, but her immediate reaction was that she needed to destroy it--not because she feared his wrath if he found it, but because what it implied would wound him. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to quiet her racing heart.

Still he didn't speak, but his eyes met hers. She was struck by how bright the blue of them was, practically the only color in the house. For several moments she and Obi-Wan looked at each other, the air between them growing thick with the rising temperature and so much left unsaid. By her, especially. But how did she begin? And where?

At length his shoulders sagged with a heavy exhale. He started to lean against the wall, but winced and stood up straighter again. His hip. The one she'd kicked.

"I'm so sorry," Sabé blurted out at the same time as he said, "I owe you an apology."

They fell silent again, blinked as if surprised by the sound of their voices. Their conversation had been limited up till now, occurring only when it couldn't be avoided, lasting only for as long as was necessary.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Obi-Wan said.

Hadn't she? For invading his home, interfering with his plans… "I do. I made a spectacle of myself. Your neighbors already think you're--"

Her face burned with the shame of it, hotter still when her downcast gaze took in the tatty, stained front of her coveralls, and the pocket that contained the proof of their opinion of him.

"Mad?" A wry note in his voice sounded more like the man she'd known a lifetime ago. "They thought that long before you came along."

"Not just that--"

Another huff of breath. "No," he agreed. "But I appreciate how valiantly you defended my honor. Especially as you have no idea how undeserving of it I may be."

Heart stuttering, Sabé lifted her eyes to him again. Did he mean...Padmé?

"It would seem I've been alone for so long that I've forgotten common courtesy."

“So have I,” she admitted. “Shall we...begin again?”

“I’m not sure where to start. However--” He picked up one of the jogan fruits, tossing it a couple of times in his hand like a ball. “--this might be a good place to consider.”

Saliva burst in Sabé’s mouth so that she had to swallow. He went past her, rubbing the fruit on his tunic as he reached for a paring knife. Turning around, he leaned against the little stove as he sliced it perfectly in half, and she practically danced with impatience. When was the last time she’d tasted fresh fruit? When had Obi-Wan? How could his hands be so steady right now?

With a squelching sound, he twisted the two halves against each other to pull them apart, revealing a large, dark pit inside. The blue of his eyes captured hers again as he held out the half without the pit. The pulp was bright purple streaked with white, and sweet smelling. Her fingers brushed his when she took it, and it was all she could do to resist sinking her teeth into it at once, to wait instead for Obi-Wan to take the point of his knife and pry the pit out into the compost bin next to the cutting board.

When he faced her again, they bit together.

Sabé’s eyes fluttered closed. Opening them again, she saw that Obi-Wan’s were shut, his brow furrowed. She chewed slowly, letting the flavor coat every part of her tongue for as long as it could, like sweet-tasting medicinal syrup. This felt as healing as any remedy her mother had ever given her in childhood.

“Mmm.” Obi-Wan opened his eyes to watch Sabé swallow her first bite.

She grunted in agreement, and they took a second bite together. Juice ran down her chin and she couldn’t be bothered to wipe it away until she’d savored that bit a little longer, while Obi-Wan stared, seemingly transfixed, until it dripped onto her collar and she brushed the backs of her fingers across her lips. Purple juice stained his overgrown mustache and beard, but he didn’t seem to care.

How long they stood this way, groaning with each succulent bite, she couldn’t have said; but she hadn’t enjoyed a more blissful moment in recent memory. The worry seemed to ease from Obi-Wan’s brow as he chewed and swallowed, and the smaller their fruits became, the calmer Sabé felt.

When she licked each of her fingers, she eyed the other fruit still in the crate, promising herself that they could wait until tomorrow. Or at least until after dinner tonight.

A yawn caught her by surprise, and she glanced back to see Obi-Wan covering a purple mouth stretched wide in a yawn of his own. Silently, they crossed down the step into the living area. He hadn't put away his bedroll before their attempt to leave; if she'd noticed that before, perhaps she wouldn't have lost her head. As she watched him lower himself onto it, it occurred to her she might offer him the bed, but she'd already sat down on the mattress, drawn her feet up to shuck off her boots, and another yawn stole away her ability to speak. Tonight...She'd give his bed back to him tonight. She was well enough to sleep on the floor. His bedroll would be more comfortable than the freighter bunks, the slabs in her cells.

She let her head sink into the pillow, rolled on her side, looking out into the sunlit living room--for the entirety of his home really was little more than a single room. There was barely room for him to stretch out to full length on the floor.

He lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath his neck, head turned slightly toward the bed. Eyes open.

Looking at her.

She looked back, until her eyelids became too heavy to open, but she saw his eyes in her sleep. Blue as the Solleu River.

~*~

When she awoke, there was only the blank wall across the room, the slivers of sky visible through the narrow windows as pale as the synstone that framed them. Hours had passed, the suns having moved to the westward side of the house at her back, where there were no windows, leaving the living space pleasantly dim. Easy for her sleepy eyes to adjust to.

Sabé rolled onto her back, arching it as she stretched her arms over her head. She must not have moved a muscle the entire time she slept. How long had Obi-Wan been awake? He'd put away his bedroll. She pushed to sit up, looking into the kitchen as she twisted her abdomen and shoulders, but he wasn't there. The 'fresher light was off, but the trap door to the cellar stood open. The sounds of his puttering down there around felt somehow reassuring. At any rate, she couldn’t hear him talking to himself at the moment.

Standing on the cool floor, she stretched again, then trudged across the rug to the trunk where she’d folded the clothing he’d loaned her. She tucked it under an arm, grabbed her backpack--she wondered if she’d ever be able to let that blaster out of her sight--and went straight to the ‘fresher.

Once inside with the door shut and locked, she rummaged through her pack to find her one pair of clean underwear, then placed her toothbrush and comb on the shelf that contained Obi-Wan’s toiletries. He must’ve just used the sonic shower: the shampoo lid was open, and the clothing he’d worn earlier lay crumpled at the bottom of a small woven hamper under the shelf. It smelled nice in here, too. Sabé unzipped her coveralls, stepped out of them, and tossed them and her underthings in the hamper, as well.

_Wait_.

Reaching into the pocket, she found Mari’s note. As she reread it, her fingers brushed the neat script, trying to get a sense of this woman who’d made dinner for a stranger and a madman.

She tossed the paper into the toilet and flushed it away.

As much as she might long for an actual water shower and real soap, it had been so long since she’d had any option at her immediate disposal that the sonic one felt like a luxury. And here she was, taking her second shower in as many days. It felt good to remove the sand, sweat, and tears from her skin, the oils from her scalp--but all the scrubbing she could do wouldn’t clean the purple stains from her fingertips. Jogan fruit. Who knew the sugary juice was so penetrating? When she finished her shower, she went to the sink to see if Obi-Wan had a more effective hand soap.

It stained her face, too, she saw in the mirror, running in a vertical line from middle of her bottom lip and onto her chin. A sloppy version of the Scar of Remembrance worn by the Naboo monarchs. For occasions of mourning, ceremony dictated purple makeup in place of the usual red, the cheek spots elongated to form tears. Sabé didn't try to scrub away the juice stain, knowing it to be useless, and she didn't want to, anyway.

Running her comb through her clean hair, the daylight shining through the window behind her cast a halo that made her stop and lean in for a closer look. That wasn't…? It _was_. A patch of grey at her part. She turned her head this way and that to check from other angles and make sure it wasn't just a trick of the light, and saw a number of silver threads mingled with the dark brown.

The mirror fogged as she huffed out a sigh. Thirty-three was a little young for this, wasn't it? Then again, she hardly felt young. Lines formed at the corners of her eyes when she squinted and didn't completely disappear when she relaxed her face.

Turning away from the mirror, she scanned the items on the toiletry shelf, then pumped out a small blob of moisturizer, rubbing it over her face. She used a little more on her knees, elbows, and shoulders, making a mental note to buy more when they finally made it to Mos Espa. Such things probably came dear on Tatooine. This one had a scent she could almost recognize and was probably why the ‘fresher smelled so sweet. She stood for a long while sniffing the back of her own hand as she tried to place the memory it called to mind.

_Enough_. Reaching for her underwear, she quickly stepped into them and donned Obi-Wan’s spare clothing once more, rolling up the sleeves and legs a couple of turns so they’d fit. After a final glance at her too-sharp cheekbones, she picked up the hamper and her backpack and exited the ‘fresher. On her way through the kitchen her gaze swept the unmade bed, and she detoured through the living room to strip off the sheets and add them to the laundry basket.

She'd set down her backpack, and as her fingers instinctively brushed the straps to pick it up again, she curled them into a fist and straightened up. Good houseguests didn't walk around armed. If she wanted Obi-Wan to trust her, and to believe she trusted him--if _she_ wanted to believe she trusted him--this was the place to start.

Besides, blasters weren't the only way to defend oneself.

Nudging her backpack against the living room table, she picked up the hamper and carried it to the cellar.

It was the one part of Obi-Wan's house she hadn't seen, and she descended the steps with curiosity. He sat at a workbench, hunched over something, but swiveled around in his chair at the scuff of her soles on the steps. His eyes barely touched her before he was on his feet and coming toward her.

"Here, let me help you with that."

She inhaled to protest--no one did anything for her--but in the spirit of beginning again, she allowed him to take the basket from her arms, following him nearer to the workbench where at last she spied his small sonic washer. Behind him, she couldn’t help noticing how his hair, now clean, was no longer a dull light brown but golden once more, shot through with silver, like her own. In his wake she caught another whiff of that unnamable scent. A flower?

“I like this,” she said, her bare feet brushing over the woven rug. It must've had vibrant colors, once upon a time. _Well, didn’t we all_ , she thought as she ran a hand over her hair. “It really brings the cellar together.”

Was that a chuckle? It was hard to tell as Obi-Wan bent to stuff the sheets and their clothing into the washing machine. “The previous hovel owners left it.”

When he stood and met her gaze, she caught the twitch of his mustache. So that _was_ a chuckle. His mustache and beard--and his lips--were still purple, even after his shower. When he reached for the dry soap to put into the dispenser, she noticed his darkened fingertips. He reminded her of the scribes of old, huddled in some dim reading room, copying sacred texts by hand until his fingers turned black with ink. In fact, there _were_ writing implements on his workbench, and from beneath a pile she saw the corner of a  leather-bound notebook. A journal? Clearly he hadn't opened it in a while. If he remembered it was there.

“What are you working on?” she asked, noting metal pieces scattered atop the workbench, as though he were making repairs. However, there weren't any tools. “Is that a vent?”

“Air intake,” he clarified. “I noticed when I went to collect the water. One of the vents was almost closed.”

“Fixed now?”

He nodded. She didn’t ask how, for she’d heard no hammering. He was a Jedi after all, and even in a wasteland like this it must come in handy. From time to time.

"If you're all right with the laundry," he said, picking up the vent, "I'll just go put this back on."

"I think I can handle a washing machine," Sabé replied, aware that she sounded a little insulted.

But his mustache twitched again, as though this, too, were a joke. "Wait till you've tried to handle this one."

She waited until he'd climbed out of the cellar to start it, jumping when it did so with a boom that echoed off the stone walls and exposed pipes, followed by a long rattle. For a moment she stared at the machine, half expecting it to explode and turn the cellar into an inferno, or at the very least ruin her clothes, then she decided it seemed to be doing its job, if a little noisily. If it didn't--well, her coveralls were no great loss.

The cleaning cycle would--or should--take only a few minutes, so she stayed in the cellar and looked around. Was _this_ where he kept his lightsaber? In addition to the washer and workbench, there was a water cistern, and two shelves stood in the corner between the wall and the boiler, which probably fueled the house's humidifier unit upstairs. From what she could tell, they appeared to hold mostly junk, though a duraplast bin contained a few onions and potatoes that smelled like they were beginning to rot. Closing it again, she considered the space. It was cool and dry enough down here that root vegetables, herbs, even some fruits, would keep for quite a long time. It must have _been_ a long time since he'd had any.

As she turned, the duracrete slab wall next to the stairs drew her gaze. She'd missed it on her way down, but there appeared to be something carved into it.

Tally marks, she saw on closer inspection. Row on row of four ticks, with diagonal slashes cutting through them. Sabé traced them with the tip of her finger, and found herself counting. She didn't stop when she heard the shuffle of Obi-Wan's feet on the stairs, and she guessed from his silence as he stopped and stood still, watching her, that the marks were not the handiwork of the previous hovel owners.

The first marks were deep; she could almost feel the anger and fear in their hollows and ridges. But as her fingers glided farther to the right, the carving was shallower, the marks made straighter and with more care. Grief? Acceptance? Or the loneliness of an endless series of day after long day? She'd spent enough of them here to know how little there was to fill them.

Two full rows of marks denoted an entire standard year. There were four rows, plus--she scanned quickly--another thirty-some days. More than two years. Almost exactly how long, to the day, since--

Obi-Wan had sat down on the steps, his purple-stained hands hanging loosely between his knees. Unable to see his face from where she stood, she went closer, took a couple of steps up, until she could look up and see his eyes. In the dim of twilight, they were as dark as a nighttime ocean, his mouth a grim line all but lost beneath his mustache. But she didn’t sense anger from him, only...waiting.

Waiting.

Starting over today hadn’t made her words come any more easily, not when it mattered. She went up the steps, pressing a hand to his shoulder as she passed him, murmuring, “Come and eat.”

He obeyed.

They put Mari's nerfherd’s pie into the oven to warm, speaking only to comment that it should give them another three, or even four, nights' worth of dinners, if they had just one portion apiece. As soon as its aroma began to fill the small house, their gazes met, and they didn't have to comment out loud that they _hoped_ they'd be able to restrain themselves to a single helping.

It was a test of their willpower not to devour it straight out of the pan, but to serve it onto plates and sit across from each other at the little dining table. Both burned their tongues because they couldn't wait for it to cool before they shoveled in large bites. A few slightly damaged tastebuds didn't stop them from closing their eyes and murmuring _mmm_ s of pleasure as the savory flavors filled their mouths. Hearty, tender meat; sweet, caramelized onions; simple carrots and potatoes made delectable by carefully selected spices; a creamy sauce that transformed the entire dish into something magical…

A flush warmed Sabé's cheeks, and it matched the ruddiness of Obi-Wan’s. She felt almost as though she’d drunk several glasses of wine, her eyelids drooping already, and only halfway through the first serving--for of course they’d have a second. Just as she speared her last bite, Obi-Wan was sliding another--larger--slice onto her plate, and she smiled broadly, heedless of her chewing. When he began to eat his second slice, his hums of delight intensified, as though the new portion were somehow even tastier than the first.

They were going to regret this--it was too much, their bodies accustomed to far less--yet somehow that thought only made her mouth water for more, because overdoing it was decadence. At least she could try to slow down, and make it last, yet in no time at all her plate was empty once again, and Obi-Wan's was, too. He stared down at it almost sadly, scraping the last of the sauce off with his fork, contemplating using his finger; Sabé knew it, because she was thinking of doing so--or simply picking up the plate and licking it clean.

Finally, with blazing eyes, he looked at her. In response her breath and heartbeat quickened, not unlike the surge of adrenaline that had accompanied her panic attack, only now instead of fear it was a dizzying euphoria. The effects of going too long without decent food, and now indulging, she supposed. She felt a smile tug the corner of her mouth and saw it mirrored in his, and at the same moment, they said, “The jogan fruit.”

Obi-Wan’s tunic sleeves swirled as he leapt up to bring the fruit and knife to the table, where he cut into it at once. He handed Sabé her half, pried out the pit so forcefully that a little juice sprayed and it bounced off his plate and landed on the floor, and sank his teeth into it.

For a moment, she stared, transfixed, as she watched him chew, his lips becoming a deeper shade of purple, even his tongue as it licked across them to catch every bit of the juice. He almost appeared to be another creature entirely in his complete savoring of this first bite. Without taking her eyes from his face, she bit into her piece and shuddered.

At last, every morsel of the fruit was consumed, every drip of the juice sucked off stained fingers. Their groans as they pushed their chairs back from the table, whose edges seemed uncomfortably close now, were not strictly from pleasure. Somehow, though she thought she might fall into a food coma right there and sleep all night, Sabé heaved to her feet and picked up the plates, while Obi-Wan, with a grunt, bent to retrieve the jogan pit from the floor. They trudged to the kitchen where, as they loaded the plates into the dishwasher, she remembered the sheets were still in the laundry unit downstairs. Part of her wanted to say, _Kark it, I'll do without_ , but she'd promised herself she'd give him the bed tonight, and anyway his sleeping mat was in the cellar, too.

She left Obi-Wan to finish cleanup while she returned downstairs to tug the sheets and their clothing from the washing unit and drop them back into the woven hamper. When she picked up the bedroll from the floor next to the workbench and straightened, she faced the wall of hatch marks again, all lined up like half of a binary language. But she understood this language. She’d lived it.

Her hand traced the marks again as she climbed back upstairs.

The sight of Obi-Wan waiting for her next to the bed caused another flush to rise in her cheeks, but Sabé told herself that close quarters and forced intimacy meant nothing, to either of them. She turned to hide her face as she rummaged for the sheets in the basket. Silently, careful not to brush shoulders or fingers, they fitted the bottom sheet back onto the bed. He shook out the top one and tucked it in at the foot while she retrieved the light coverlet and pillows from where he’d tossed them on the rug.

It looked so inviting, with fresh sheets turned back, pillows fluffed with new cases on, waiting for someone to crawl in and sleep. Obi-Wan held out a bundle of clothes to her. Her brows furrowed at them, then raised as she looked up.

"Something more comfortable to sleep in," he said.  

Sabé went to the 'fresher to change into the soft sleep pants and shirt and brush her teeth. When she emerged, he was waiting in the kitchen, clutching his own bundle and waiting for his turn. He'd spread out the bedroll, and before she could give in to the allure of the bed, she lay down on her back and drew the covers up to her chin.

They smelled like him. Up till now, she hadn't thought about Obi-Wan having a distinct smell, but now it enveloped her. Sand and sweat and a hint of that floral scent she still could not identify…

The house was so quiet, apart from the sound of the 'fresher sink. She closed her eyes and strained her ears for the noises of animals on the hillside. Her too-full stomach made a high, almost song-long sound. The euphoria of the meal hadn't fully worn off, and she chuckled.

Another squeak, this time of the 'fresher door opening, and the whisper of Obi-Wan's feet on the floor. Through her closed eyelids, she sensed the shift in lighting as he flicked off the kitchen light.

"Oh no," he said, his voice coming from the direction of the step, where he no doubt had stopped at the sight of her on the floor.

Sabé opened her eyes, raised her head so she could just see him over the top of the table. "We'll alternate."

Purple lips pursed beneath his mustache, and she suspected that under the hair that badly needed trimming his forehead puckered, too. She arched one of her eyebrows, daring him to argue with her. He did huff out a breath which made his shoulders slump beneath his loose sleep shirt, but he didn't say anything. Just nodded and shuffled to the bed.

Sabé settled back onto her pillow. Listened to the flick of the living room lightswitch, the rustle of sheets. Then all was still and silent as she stared up at the synstone ceiling. Her heart pounded, and she turned away from the sound of Obi-Wan’s breathing toward the four windows.

Out here in the middle of nowhere the night sky was blacker than sin, but that meant she could see the little pinpricks of light. So many stars. Obi-Wan’s tiny windows exploded with them.

He was still awake, so she began.

“I was held prisoner for nearly eighteen months, first by Imperials and then by the Rebellion. The Empire thought Padmé’s Handmaidens must have valuable information about the resistance. And the Rebel Alliance thought, after being held by Emperor Palpatine for so long, that I must have information about the Empire. I escaped. Been on the run for the past six months.”

The silence--and the ring of her damaged hearing--filled her ears as he said nothing. She closed her eyes, blocking out the light, but the hum of an energy barrier buzzed inside her brain until she opened them again and turned toward the dark shape on the bed.

Starlight slanted through the windows in beams. _Bars._ In one of the dark spaces between, his pale hand reached through to her.

She grasped it.   

The pounding of her heart continued, but differently. She might someday decide to think about the cool, dry skin against hers, and the strength beneath his gentle grasp.

But not tonight. A river of sleep carried her between hills and beside mountains made of sand, and she knew she had to watch out for Tusken Raiders. Before long, they were upon her, and her trusty blaster came to her defense.

As did a Jedi Knight, his blue lightsaber driving away the darkness until there was nothing left but the two of them.

Blade still aloft, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this fic were a movie, we'd cast Mark Ruffalo and Finn Wolfhard in the roles of Sim and Wulfric Starfall. You haven't seen the last of them, so we hope you enjoyed meeting them!


	5. Chapter 5

“You don’t have to come along if you’re not up for this,” said Obi-Wan as he tugged the saddle’s cinch tighter around the eopie’s belly. In the purple of pre-dawn, the memory of the cool night lingered. The suns would set the planet ablaze within an hour. They needed to set out quickly for Mos Espa.

Sabé’s face appeared beside the beast’s--had she been nuzzling it?--and she stared at him. She certainly _looked_ better than she had when they first attempted to go for supplies, but although the shadows had faded from beneath her eyes, their expression remained guarded.

Which was perfectly understandable, now that he knew something of her story.

“Are you saying that two riders are too much for your eopie?” she asked.

“Not at all," Obi-Wan replied, but he sensed that was not what she truly meant. "Just...it’s only been two days since…”

“Since I kicked you?”

“Well. Yes.”

“I’ve had a change of heart.”

“Decided on your blaster instead, then?” he prodded, eyeing the backpack slung over her shoulder. It bulged with the bulk of her coveralls, and he tried to ignore the pinch in his chest the sight triggered. She might yet decide to cast off for another star system. But she wore the clothing he’d loaned her, along with the gauzy grey scarf from Mari Starfall.

“I’ll surprise you.”

It would hardly be the first time. But he kept that thought to himself, not wanting to pain her with the reminder of who she had been. As it was, her lips--which were no longer purple--twitched back, revealing her teeth, and a dimple flashed in her cheek. As if she wanted to smile, but didn't remember entirely how. The muscles in his own face felt tight with a similar disuse as he returned it, but Sabé had stepped back so that the eopie's head blocked her face again.

He’d forgotten she had dimples.

Giving the cinch one last tug to ensure it and the two saddlebags--empty except for their water and some rations--were fastened securely, he swung up, then held out a hand. Sabé didn't immediately place hers in it, but stared at his palm. Thinking, as Obi-Wan was, of clasping it in the dark? Perhaps he'd been too forward. He'd wanted to offer her something of comfort, and he'd lacked words. But the gesture had been appropriate enough, he supposed; she’d fallen asleep almost immediately.

He’d held her hand for a long while and didn’t remember falling asleep. The next morning he'd awoken with his arm numb from hanging off the edge of the bed all night.

Sabé's jaw muscles contracted, then she gripped his hand. Obi-Wan hoisted her up behind him, surprised at how light she felt, even with her backpack over her shoulders and the sturdy work boots on her feet. She'd seemed heavier when he'd thrown her over his shoulder in the market, during the eternal ride here trying to keep her upright and astride the eopie, and he knew she'd put on a little weight since then. Of course, the past two days he'd felt stronger than he had in some time-- _No thanks to your own poor grocery shopping habits,_ Qui-Gon had been quick to remind him. _Thanks to the Starfalls_ , Obi-Wan had replied. He hadn't been sure which of them countered, _It wasn't you they were concerned about._

The saddle, meant for one, barely held the two of them. At least on today’s ride Sabé would be behind him, and they’d make better time. Or should. She nestled close, arms around his waist, thighs pressed against the outside of his legs.

Thankfully, she couldn’t see the flush that warmed his cheeks at her touch. The dream he’d had the night he held her hand in the dark rushed at him, and he didn’t have time to dodge it. He’d tasted the sweet jogan fruit on her tongue, and it seemed like the dream had gone on all night.

He flicked the reins and clucked to the eopie. The beast didn't budge. Just swung its head back and made a bleating sound. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes skyward and waited for the series of quiet plops on the ground. He held his breath and felt Sabé shift to turn her head upwind. The twinge in her midsection against his back. At least one of them was amused.

"If you're quite finished," he muttered, when all was still and silent once more, and gave the reins another slap.

This time, the eopie lurched into a jog, hooves crunching in the rocky grit of the hillside, what little dry vegetation grew over it snapping under the weight.

“What’s his name?” Sabé asked, her face close to Obi-Wan's ear.

“Hmm?”

“Your eopie.”

“Doesn’t have one.”

Her arms tensed around him. She didn’t like that, he could tell even without seeing her brows draw together. But why name a creature meant to serve?

“Everything needs a name,” she said as though she’d read his mind.

“Even an eopie?”

“He has value, yes?”

After a silence, he shrugged. True, without the beast his trips Mos Espa would be painful, the journeys to check on Luke impossible. A twinge of the memory of carrying an infant across kilometers of desert sands made his vision blur. He’d held Anakin’s son against his chest, and this eopie had borne them across the sands without complaint or judgment.

“What do you call him?” Sabé persisted.

“The eopie.”

“Oh, my stars.”

The suns climbed steadily, and Obi-Wan tugged his hood further over the right side of his face to block the glare in his eyes. They rode without speaking for a good half hour before she spoke again.

“Nagpal.”

“What?”

“We’re calling your eopie Nagpal."

Was that Naboo?

"It means ‘savior of serpents,’” she offered, though he hadn't asked. "He saved my life, after all.”

“With a little help.” He tried not to sound affronted.

A chuckle rumbled into his back. “With a little help. And some snake stew.”

Obi-Wan felt his cheeks rise in a true smile, but she’d missed that one, too. He tried not to focus on her breasts pressing against the muscles of his back, the warmth of her groin undulating into him with each lope of their mount. Even dropping into a meditative state didn’t dull the sensations hammering into his physical self. If anything, the feelings _became_ the meditation, each point where their bodies touched declaring, _Here_. _Here_. _Here_.

Perhaps talking would help.

“Over that way,” he said, pointing southwest between two hills, “is the Starfall homestead.”

Sabé leaned away as she looked beyond his reach, her fingers stiffening as she held onto his sides.

“I’ve never been there," he went on. "Met Sim for the first time in Mos Espa. He went that way, so I assume they live there. No one lives in the mountains.”

No one _lived_ there, but certainly people hid there.

"Is that the Xelric Draw?" Sabé asked as the jagged hillsides rose into proper cliffs ahead of them.

He nodded.

"I recognized it from your blanket map."

Why did she have to mention blankets? He pictured her wearing practically nothing beneath them, writhing from her fevered dreams in his bed.

"Eyes open in the Draw," he said, voice as taut as her posture. "There could be bandits. Or Tusken Raiders."

Sabé shifted again, and he heard the zip of her pack. She put just one arm around him, the other resting on her thigh. He knew what it held.

The canyon walls plunged them into shadow and brought blessed relief from the rising temperature. On the ride home, they'd be exposed to full sun.

"Do you have your lightsaber?" she asked in a hush.

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Why not?”

He couldn’t blame her for the accusation in her voice, but there was no simple response aside from the most obvious one. “No one can know a Jedi lives here.”

She seemed to accept this, or at least didn't ask him to elaborate.

"Do you have a blaster? Any weapon at all?"

"I've had enough of violence," Obi-Wan replied.

Sabé huffed and leaned back from him. In the absence of her heat, he noticed how sweaty the layers of his clothing had grown on his back.

The squeal of a zucca boar echoed through the canyon. Sabé raised her blaster, but Obi-Wan knew the creature wouldn’t show itself. Boars feared the humanoid life forms here. This one might be hungry, or fighting over territory or even a mate, although the latter would be odd in the winter.

Another flood of paranoia rushed through him as he pictured how near her blaster was to the base of his skull.

But if Sabé were an assassin, she’d had ample opportunity to do her job before now. Unless she needed a guide back to Mos Espa to make her escape? No, she’d always been resourceful. A decoy to the queen had to be; she’d make her own way, as she'd no doubt done to escape Imperial custody.

Besides, her story--and her distress--about her imprisonment seemed legitimate.

He’d have to decide whether he trusted her sooner or later. Perhaps she’d make up her mind one way or another about him, too, and they could end this uncertain dance. Perhaps today she’d seek transport out of this hell hole and that would settle the matter. He couldn’t blame her for that.

Though part of him wanted to.

With that sudden awareness, his heart pounded painfully. He spent the remainder of their ride bringing it, and his thoughts, into submission.

~*~

"Sabé has proved herself quite the bargainer," came Qui-Gon's voice at his side as Obi-Wan watched her pay a vendor for a sack of hubba gourds. "If only I'd had her along when I needed parts to repair the queen's ship."

"Didn't you always tell me not to dwell on the past at the expense of the present moment?" Obi-Wan muttered, not wanting to think about that other trip to Mos Espa, fifteen years ago. Not of the boy his Master had found here.

"I believe I had more to say about the future than the past," Qui-Gon said. "What would you have thought if you'd foreseen crossing paths with her again like this?"

Obi-Wan watched Sabé adjust the scarf over her head where it had slipped as she slung the sack over her shoulder. She lingered at the vendor's stall, though he couldn't hear their conversation.

"I'd have laughed," he replied. "A future in which the decoy Queen of Naboo would be dressed in my old clothes? Impossible."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Then again, it stands to reason that someone with her diplomatic experience would drive a hard bargain in the marketplace. I'm pleased for the state of your pantry."

Obi-Wan made no reply to the ghost as Sabé turned from the vendor and approached with her purchase, chin tilted proudly.  

"Hubba gourds are quite bitter," he said, reaching out to take the heavy sack from her and handing her his lighter one.

"That's why I asked how to prepare them. Apparently they're nice cooked with bristlemelon."

"Sounds tasty," Qui-Gon called after them as they moved off toward the spice stalls. "Sometimes I miss being corporeal."

"Is the hubba gourd vendor in business with the bristlemelon man?" Obi-Wan asked, shouldering the sack.

“If he is, I’ll haggle him down, too,” said Sabé, “and we’ll ask the bloddle seller for a different recipe.”

“Fair enough.” Obi-Wan didn’t need to challenge her on this, not when she was only trying to stock his pitiful cellar with food that would keep. He couldn’t expect Sabé to adhere to his asceticism. Especially not when she insisted on paying.

"Do not mistake attrition for asceticism, young one," Qui-Gon said, another day, or now. "The former is not the way of the Jedi."

Shame prickling hot in his cheeks, Obi-Wan submitted to Sabé's lead through the market stalls, adding potatoes, carrots, onions, bristlemelons, and bloddles to their two saddlebags. She also acquired fresh garlic, a string of dried peppers, and several paper sacks of spices.

“I’m not a cook by any stretch of the imagination,” she admitted, “but I can learn.”

Obi-Wan frowned. He’d thought that, once. Yet he’d never bothered.

He didn’t know whether he was more disappointed in himself for not making the effort, or fearful that Sabé would give up someday, as he had. Tatooine had a way of battering down a person, just as its sands beat away at the jagged rocks, smoothing them into something unrecognizable. It happened slowly, over time, a habit strengthened day by day, like the habit of not looking in the mirror at the ribs outlined along one’s torso.

“It helped me talk to you, though,” murmured Obi-Wan to the ghost that hovered at his elbow once more.

“What?” Sabé turned from sniffing a sweet pallie to regard him with bright brown eyes.

“Nothing.” The ghost drifted away, if he’d been there at all, leaving Obi-Wan to talk with the flesh and blood woman before him.

“Let’s get some of these, too,” she said. “Unless...jogan fruit!” Eyes widening as she looked past his shoulder, she replaced the pallie in its crate and rushed across the dusty thoroughfare, the sack bumping against her hip and sand flying from her boots as she went.

Obi-Wan hastened to join her, his own sack now heavy with their purchases. It was more crowded on this side. Casting out his senses for thieves and pickpockets, he found nothing untoward at the moment.

Until he saw Sabé’s crestfallen face.

He followed her gaze to the small printed sign and had to restrain a gasp at the price. But when the vendor sauntered over to them, she’d recovered and drawn herself up, chin held high.

“I’ll give you an ingot for four,” she began, but the vendor wouldn’t budge. On they went, Sabé scoffing and countering, the vendor sniffing and waving her away.

Sim had given them two of these precious fruits. A little taste of Coruscant.

“Why don’t you go buy us some of those pallies?” said Obi-Wan, taking her gently by the elbow. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Clearly unsatisfied to be thwarted, Sabé's eyes flashed and nostrils flared; but she acquiesced, trudging back across the street.

Never had Obi-Wan felt more tempted to use a mind trick to get the fruits at a better price...but that wouldn’t be fair to the farmer or the seller, much less to other customers who had to pay the full amount. In the end, he bought one. They could share it later when they returned home. His lips twitched in a secret smile, but his heart thudded at his next realization.

She must intend to return with him, if she was making plans to cook.

"Why don't you ask her outright?" prodded Qui-Gon.

“I won’t pressure her, even with a question. Besides, who says she ought to stay here? Tatooine's a dirtball full of nothing.”

“You’re here.”

“Exactly. Now go away. I’m trying to be happy about something.”

Striding through the place where Qui-Gon's transparent form hovered, Obi-Wan crossed back to Sabé, who’d just finished her negotiations and was stuffing the pallies into her sack.

"These will keep longer than jogan fruit, anyway," she told him, apparently mollified by how far her money went on the local produce. "And they won't turn your mustache purple."

He brushed his fingers over it. "Shame. I was beginning to think it was my color."

Her eyes danced downward, resting for a moment on his lips, he thought--or more likely she was checking to see all the purple had faded--then she turned to walk on. "What else is on your list?"

"Only flour," he said, drawing the paper from his pocket to check it. Their saddlebags now contained everything he'd written down--and much more that he hadn't. "Unless you can think of anything?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to burden poor Nagpal."

He thought about raising his eyebrows with some quip that beasts of burden were used to burdens, but then decided it was just as well. The suns had climbed high, the crowds grown. Negotiating other shoppers in the dusty aisles was as much a challenge as negotiating fair prices. The vendors could afford to be firmer now that they had more out-of-towners and fewer wares. They bought a month's worth of flour and a sack of sugar, then returned to where they'd left the eopie--Nagpal--hitched.

Before Obi-Wan secured the loaded saddlebags, his gaze drifted to the shop across the street. Sure enough, the skinny slave boy he'd turned a worried thought to was sweeping the front step--and had already spotted him.

"Mr. Ben!" Dojj didn't bother to set down his broom before he darted into the street. He waved it around, warding off unseen foes, as he skirted carts and passersby. "Is that her? The lady you rescued?"

Obi-Wan felt Sabé’s panic as a cruel spike in the Force, her shoulder brushing against his as she came to his side.  

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “He’s a friend.”

“Friends can betray as easily as enemies.”

Obi-Wan could only swallow the bitter retort on his lips. She wouldn’t know about Anakin, after all.

And _she_ could just as easily betray him. The Rebellion didn't trust her.

As it was, the only thing he could do was try and put her at ease by remaining physically close to her as Dojj tramped up.

"I've been wondering if you were still alive," the boy said, in lieu of greeting. "You looked like you were about to bite the dust. 'Course if anyone would be able to help, it's this wizard here."

He winked up at Obi-Wan, then returned his attention to Sabé, extending a hand.

"Name's Dojj," he said, keeping it out as she continued to stare at it. Obi-Wan thought she might refuse to shake it, as she'd done with Sim, but then her long slender fingers closed tentatively around the grease-stained ones."And you're the lovely…?"

"Sabé," she replied, and Obi-Wan felt the release of a held breath in the Force.

"Pretty name for a pretty lady. Couldn't tell before, when you were hacking up your guts in the street."

Dojj released her hand, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the alley in which they'd first seen her. Obi-Wan's eyes followed it, a sense of something dark brooding there, but the crowd clustered too thick in the street for him to see past it.

"Thank you?"

“Don’t mention it,” he grinned. “Allow me to show you around my shop.”

At this, Obi-Wan could no longer contain his bafflement. “ _Your_ shop?”

The boy shushed him, holding out an elbow for Sabé to take as though he were leading her to a ballroom instead of a grimy junk shop. The two adults raised their eyebrows at each other over Dojj’s head just before he handed Obi-Wan his broom to carry.

Allowing himself a chuckle, he balanced the broomstick over his shoulder, hoisted his heavy pack higher on the other one, and followed the mismatched couple. Halfway across the dusty street Dojj noticed Sabé’s pack and tried to carry it for her, but she slipped out of his reach. The boy’s shoulders slumped for a split second, then he trotted after her into Watto’s place.

The Toydarian was nowhere in sight. (“Lunch hour. He’s haggling with some crusty old Corellian about ship parts,” Dojj reassured him when Obi-Wan expressed concern that he had no business in the shop today.) The woman he’d seen from time to time sat behind the counter, as did the older girl he’d thought could be Dojj’s sister.

“Who’ve you dragged in this time?” the woman asked, rising out of politeness to the newcomers. Kind eyes regarded the boy from within a weathered face not unlike the one Obi-Wan had imagined for Shmi Skywalker. She might have been his own age, or near to it.

“Mr. Ben and his lady friend, Sabé,” announced Dojj. “He saved her life. I saw it.”

“Yes, you told us all about it,” the girl droned, leaning with elbows on the dirty, scratched countertop. “Many times.”

“Well, it’s a good story, you've gotta admit.” Dojj took the broom back from Obi-Wan and leaned it inside the entrance. “That’s my ma and sister,” he said with a wave toward them.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Miss.”

Dojj’s mother, probably not used to being introduced very often, managed a closed-lipped smile, while her daughter sat up straighter. They both looked wary--of him, he supposed, if the rumors of his _stealing_ a woman had travelled so widely in the spaceport town that Sim had heard it. It didn’t sound as though Dojj had painted the situation that way, but people would make assumptions. This was Tatooine, after all, where stories seldom had happy endings. Especially for young women.

"My son said you were ill?"' Sitting once more on the stool, Dojj's mother slid her gaze back to Sabé, who'd been regarding her and the girl intently. As though she recognized them, somehow.

Of course she would know another captive when she saw one.

"Dantari flu," she replied.

Dojj's mother _hmm_ ed her sympathy. "Bad epidemic swept through the quarters three years back. Hardly a family that didn't lose a young one. Or an old one…" Her eyes misted, and Obi-Wan felt a quiver of grief in the Force. "You must have a lucky star."

"Yeah-- _him_." Dojj pointed at Obi-Wan.

"It was Dojj who noticed her being harassed," he said. "You've raised a compassionate son. And I hope…"

He faltered. Hoped what? There was so little hope here, for people like them.

"I hope you're all being treated well by--” He couldn’t bring himself to say _your master_. “--Watto.”

"It's been a week since he smacked me," Dojj said. “Seems like he’s been extra nice to Cosi, though.”

The woman’s worried gaze locked onto her daughter, who flushed red and looked as though she would cry. Beside him, Sabé's breath came quicker, shallow, as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. It dimmed, the light that had been streaming through the open door suddenly blocked. They all turned sharply to see who'd come in. Not Watto, fortunately, but a Weequay with a pair of welder's goggles perched atop his leathery head.

Dojj's mother had already stood again to greet the customer, so they had no chance to exchange farewells, much less to react to the implication behind Watto’s behavior. But Dojj tripped along behind them to the door, retrieving his broom, and called out, "See you next month. Mr. Ben! You, too, Miss Sabé!"

Back under the punishing suns, Obi-Wan watched his worn boots scuff through the dust, thinking of the defeat after defeat the Jedi had suffered...and allowed. Why couldn’t they have done something about the slave trade? The economy would’ve faltered and righted itself again, somehow. Rage simmered dangerously close to a boil within his chest, and he felt the same, peppered with fear, from Sabé, as they marched in step toward Nagpal. Far be it from him to blame her if she judged the Jedi for their lack of action here. How often hadn’t they stood up when they should’ve, and interfered when they oughtn’t? He darted a glance sideways and caught a glimpse of her hand clenching and unclenching as she walked.

“Oy! Sick girl!”

The voice came from the alley across the way, and Obi-Wan didn’t have to look to know who’d shouted, or to whom he referred. He saw Sabé’s eyes widen, her face grow slack in horror.

Whipping his head toward the Twi’lek drug dealer, he caught him acting out a lewd gesture with his own lekku.

“Excuse me.” Obi-Wan was already stalking toward him when he let the pack slip from his shoulder, the gourds and jogan fruit thumping on the hard-packed street. He picked up speed as he went and was gratified to see the Twi’lek stumble backward toward the wall, darting his eyes toward the end of the alley for his comrades who might or might not be there as backup today.

When he reached the lowlife, it was all he could do not to knock his pointed teeth down his throat. He settled for leaning into him, one hand against the wall. “ _It’s time for you to reconsider every single one of your life’s choices_.”

The Twi’lek’s mouth opened as though to repeat the command, but Obi-Wan didn’t want to hear even that much. He stepped back and shoved his shoulder, pushing him out into the suns’ light, where he staggered and blinked. “Go home!”

The thug ran away, tripping over his billowing robes as he went.

When Obi-Wan turned back to Sabé, she stood just as he’d left her, mouth open, holding her sack a few feet away from the one he’d dropped. He concentrated on regulating his breathing as he returned to her, snatched up his pack, and muttered, “I should’ve done that in the first place.”

She didn't ask him what _that_ was. Perhaps she knew. Or didn't want to know. Or was still too shaken to speak.

Obi-Wan let out a long exhale and bent his head to look directly into her eyes. "Are you all right?"

Sabé blinked. "I saw a cantina earlier."

With the exception of it meaning he'd have to carry the heavy packs a little further, that was the best idea he'd heard in weeks. "I know the one."


	6. Chapter 6

If nothing else, the Mos Espa Podracer Cantina provided blessed relief from the heat of the marketplace. It was more crowded than Obi-Wan would've expected--or preferred--before noon, owing to the podrace being broadcast from Malastare. Sabé's eyes had been glued to one of the many holovision screens fixed to the walls since they sat down in a booth as far as they could get from the bar to nurse their small Dodbri whiskeys.

He wouldn't have taken her for a racing fan. Then again, it might simply have been pure distraction. He berated himself for not anticipating a run-in with the Twi’lek who'd tried to abduct her, but if the races took Sabé’s mind off him, he’d sit here for as long as she needed.

Podracing had quite the opposite effect on Obi-Wan. He tipped back his glass and took a large gulp, stifling a grimace along with thoughts of a tow-headed boy who’d raced for freedom, only to become enslaved to a far crueller master.

How long had it been since he’d had alcohol? Since Sabé had? He inhaled to ask, then decided he didn’t really want the answer. Nor did he wish to recall when he’d last drunk for pleasure. Surely Anakin had been with him--though Anakin abstained from all mind-altering substances. Before him, Qui-Gon had not. Obi-Wan refocused his attention on the woman across from him.

Sabé gripped the cloudy glass with both hands, perhaps to still their shaking, as she sipped slowly and watched the race. Her eyes, however, didn’t dart across the screen tracking the racers. He followed her gaze and saw a wide shot of the surrounding forest, a strange, lush purple. It looked cool there. Serene.

If one could forget about all the conflicts over fuel extraction.

Obi-Wan brought his gaze back to his drink, forcing himself to slow down and enjoy it.

Sabé set her glass on the table. The level of the amber liquid was barely lower than it had been when the Ithorian bartender thrust it at her, but she got up, pulling her backpack and canteen with her, leaving the heavier saddlebag of supplies on the seat. Mumbling about replenishing their water, she held out her hand for his canteen. He gave it to her, then delved into his cloak pocket for a little money, for no one on Tatooine gave water freely, from the goodness of his heart. At least the whiskey had been cheap. Obi-Wan watched her  trudge off, heavy boots scuffing on the sticky floor, one lace dragging, until he lost her in the crowd gathered around the screens to watch the race.

A shimmering form materialized across the table, as if Qui-Gon were just another patron who'd slipped into Sabé’s vacated seat. For some time, he sat just as silently as she had, until Obi-Wan swallowed the last of his whiskey and asked, "Do you have something to say?"

Qui-Gon's eyebrows went up. "You summoned me. I never knew you to brood over a drink."

Obi-Wan looked down at the empty glass in his hand, the duraplast table visible through the bottom of it. He set it down, trailed a scratch that ran across the width of the surface to Sabé's glass. Was she going to finish it when she returned?

"Weren't you trying to be happy about something?" Qui-Gon probed.

A lot had happened since Obi-Wan hid a jogan fruit in his bag, imagining the flash of Sabé's dimples when he revealed it to her back at his hovel.

"Happiness is a mirage on Tatooine."

“All emotions are mirages,” corrected Qui-Gon, “that we create in response to our perceived realities.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes but knew Qui-Gon could sense their rolling behind the lids. “My reality is sand, slavery, and solitude. I’m not sure how else I could perceive it.”

“You forgot Sabé.”

He slitted his eyes on Qui-Gon. Beyond his ethereal shoulder he noticed a man eyeing him with suspicion. Well, talking to no one _would_ raise a few eyebrows, but Obi-Wan didn’t much care at the moment. They could perceive whichever reality they wanted to here. No doubt stranger things happened on an hourly basis in the cantinas of Mos Espa.

Not ready to acknowledge his master's last remark, he scanned the other customers, hoping to see Sabé returning from the bar. He _did_ spy her, not making her way back to their booth, but deep in conversation with two men at another table. One wore a flight suit, the other a jacket. A captain and first mate? The one in the flight suit held a datapad, which he tapped, then slid across the table toward Sabé. She clutched her backpack strap tightly as she bent over to look at it. When her head turned toward Obi-Wan, eyes touching his briefly before glancing back, his heart juddered like the failing engine of one of the podracers on the holoscreens.

“Looks like I won’t have her for much longer,” he said, “if she’s about to jump aboard their starship.”

His words came in a harsher clip than he’d intended, and a couple of heads swiveled toward him.

"Don't let her go," Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan gaped. "I _helped_ her. I'm not holding her captive."

Around him, murmurs, which had nothing to do with the podracing.

Qui-Gon shrugged. "If you're worried she'll sell you to the Empire, it would be in your best interests not to let her go."

“No one’s selling anyone.”

“So you admit that you sense no such danger from her?”

“Of course.”

“Did it hurt so much to say it out loud?” Qui-Gon smirked as he folded transparent arms across his torso.

 _Everything hurts, and there’s no sense in thinking about any of it_. “Talking never made anything better.”

“Didn’t it?”

Obi-Wan stood, glowering over his Master, unsure what he could--or even should--say to that. He became aware that several people watched him now, and that the owner had emerged from behind the bartop.

The Ithorian came directly to Obi-Wan’s table. “My customers are here to watch podracing, not nerve burners having a mental breakdown,” he said, his dark, glassy eyes squinting in a threatening manner. He’d slung a rag over his shoulder, and one hand twitched near his hip. A blaster, most likely. "Time to move along."

Obi-Wan cast his senses toward Sabé, for he couldn’t see her now that some of the patrons had stood to watch the spectacle.

He held up his palms, took a step back toward his table, and started to sit. "Just as soon as I finish my drink--"

The furry arm of one of the bystanders grabbed Sabé's unfinished drink before Obi-Wan could, and tipped it to pour out the whiskey, slowly, onto the booth where Qui-Gon's form had been.  

"Looks like you're finished," said the Ithorian.

Obi-Wan gritted out, "So it would appear."

He collected the saddlebags, casting out again for Sabé, though he didn't dare look, lest one of these people take it amiss. He strode out of the cantina, the crowd parting for him--a few murmuring insults, or _It's that crazy Ben… I told you about him...Right barvy…_ If he hadn't had the karking bags, he'd have reached back to tug his hood up. When he bent his head, his hair fell over his face, at least partly concealing the burning flush.

Outside the midday wind blew harder, the sand biting into his cheeks. He went to the eopie--Nagpal--whom he'd tethered beside a trough and hefted the bags over his girth, securing the straps while keeping his face out of the wind. At last he pulled his hood up and turned around to face the doorway.

Just as he was trying to decide whether he should go back inside for her--she had his water--Sabé rushed out, laden with backpack and canteens, whipping her head this way and that, looking for--

_For him._

Her eyes widened briefly, and she heaved a sigh. Then she drew a deep breath and practically shouted at him. “Where are you going?”

Eyebrows knitting, he responded in kind. “Where are _you_ going?”

“Where do you think?” She thrust his canteen at him, then drew her scarf over her head, tugging the edges out with--he saw now--trembling fingers.

“Wind’s picking up,” he said. “We’d better go.”

Hoisting himself up onto the beast’s back, Obi-Wan held out a hand. Sabé took it without hesitation and clambered up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist at once.

Her entire body shook.

He froze. Had she truly thought he’d left her?

He tried to say her name, but his lips made the shape of the word without producing any sound. Swallowing, he tried again, this time managed, "I'm sorry," as she choked out the same.

He twisted to look back at her, but his damned hood was in the way. Besides which, she’d pressed her cheek into his back as though she didn’t want to be seen.

"I know you want me to go--"

"I don't."

Sabé lifted her head. Surprised. Genuinely surprised. In the Force, he felt something leap. _Hope._ Stars, how could he have been so cruel as to deny her that? Little wonder Qui-Gon had taken him to task. _Why don't you ask her outright?_

"I want you to stay," Obi-Wan said. "But only if that's what you want. I'm not another captor."

Her arms tightened around him, squeezing. An embrace? Then she relaxed and sat up straight behind him in the saddle.

Leaving Mos Espa behind after a supply run always felt strange to Obi-Wan. Though he couldn’t befriend people and risk them asking questions, each time he returned to his hovel he felt that much lonelier, and more the madman they all thought him. Even bringing Sabé home with him the first time had felt the same way.

Not today. Whatever her reasons, she’d _chosen_ to return with him.

He wouldn’t--couldn’t--dwell on that. There was no reason to hope. Nothing to hope _for_. And yet hadn’t he wanted to give _her_ a shred of it?

An echo of Qui-Gon’s voice: _Look at your reality_.

Nagpal plodded onward through the shifting sands, and the riders surrendered to the undulation of the animal's body beneath them, Obi-Wan holding loosely to the reins and scanning the rocky outcroppings for a spying head, the glint of a rifle sight. Sabé retrieved her weapon again and hid it within the folds her her loose tunic so the suns wouldn’t make holding the hot metal unbearable. As it was, the rays beat down upon Obi-Wan’s shoulders, making sweat trickle down his neck as he squinted into the gritty wind.

Sand featured prominently in his reality, but solitude, it seemed, no longer. He turned his thoughts to the way Sabé had looked at Dojj's family; the same look of recognition had been on her face when she’d counted his tally marks on the cellar wall. She must have understood then that he wasn't her captor, but a fellow captive. Whatever circumstances had brought them here, they were in this together.

Very close together.

On their morning ride to town, Obi-Wan had been painfully aware of their physical proximity. Now, under the high searing suns, he was no less so, though this time he didn't try to escape from it. He would only expend precious energy reserves if he tried. So he simply accepted that he was as close to a woman as he'd ever been. The steady puff of her breath against his hood...The sweat of her thighs mingling with his through their trousers...The heat of her palm through his tunic, dipping below his waist, then back up again, with each of Nagpal's loping strides...

His eyes drifted closed, but the rays of the sun only seared the image of her barely clothed body against the backs of his lids. Perhaps he was drunk...or perhaps _he_ burned with fever now… He wasn't sure he wanted to be cured, or sober.

Sabé's knees pressed harder into him, the weight of her blaster--and her fingers around its grip--resting against his leg as she let go of him with her other hand. The slosh of liquid in a metal container--her canteen. He didn't have to be looking at her to see the curve of her long white throat as she tilted her head back to drink...He saw himself kneeling at her bedside for hours till his knees were numb to the aching, offering her sips of water. His tongue darted out to lick dry lips, and at the sound of her swallow at his ear he became aware of his own thirst. He started to search for the canteen tucked within his cloak when her arm brushed his, reaching around to offer him a drink from hers.

Eyeing the slender fingers that held it, Obi-Wan took the canteen and tipped it back. As he swallowed he thought about jogan fruit, and Sabé’s sweet purple tongue, and when she replaced her hand on his waist his eyes fluttered shut once more.

_A new reality._

He forced himself to stop before he’d used up too much of her supply, but told himself they could always break for a few minutes and swap canteens. Nevertheless, he reached across his shoulder to offer it back to her. As he twisted, the wind blew his hood away from his face and he caught a glimpse of hers, red-cheeked from the heat.

Smiling his thanks, he turned to face forward again before his own burning cheeks gave him away, tugging his hood back up as he did so to inhibit the impulse to place his hand over hers.

Would it be so wrong if he didn't? Once again he thought of taking her hand in the dark, her delicate fingers enclosed within his own. He'd marveled at the smoothness of her skin, yet uncracked by harsh winds and dry heat. He wanted to preserve her from that. To shelter her.

It had been so long since he'd been anyone's protector.

But wasn't that the old reality?

What did it mean, _a new reality_?

 _New...new....new..._ The word echoed through his mind like the call of an animal in a canyon...the repetitive creak of the saddle, the wheeze of the eopie's breath. _New...new...new..._ His mantra as he felt himself sliding into meditation. _New_ ...or _knew_?

What did he know now, that he hadn't before? _Know….know...know..._ The landscape rippled before him, the Dune Sea beyond the Wastes transformed to liquid waves by the suns. _All emotions are mirages…_ Ignoring the unspoken _no_ of that precept, Obi-Wan went toward it anyway, let himself be carried along on the current with his Master's ashes. He dived down, the particles all around him, specks of dust floating in shafts of sunlight, and saw her, Sabé, suspended on the other side. _Choose me,_ she said. _Choose me._ So he reached between the bars, and chose her.

"I couldn't go with him," she said.

Out loud.

Into his back.

He opened his eyes--or rather, saw with them, for they were already open--and reality was the Xelric Draw rising out of the earth, Nagpal beneath him, Sabé behind him. ( _Around him, through him.)_

"Who?"

Her cheek was pressed between his shoulder blades, one arm around his waist holding him close. This wasn’t the position of someone trying not to tumble from an eopie’s back. This was Sabé trying to be closer to him.

"The captain at the cantina.” Her voice sounded sleepy. Had his meditation drawn her in somehow? Or had the relaxation of his body calmed hers?

 _I chose you_.

He blinked, took a breath.

Listened.

Exhaled.

Sabé inhaled and sat up, shaking herself from whatever spell she’d been under. “He wouldn’t say it in so many words, but he showed me the schematic of his starship. There were...holding cells.”

“Sentient cargo.” He swallowed, throat dry again. “Slave trade.”

She pressed her other cheek to his sweaty back. The arm around his waist wrapped itself into the fabric of his tunic. He folded his hand around her fist and held it.

They rode on in silence, Obi-Wan’s thoughts turning to worry once more about Sabé’s fevered rantings when she’d been ill. Had she been sent to a forced labor camp during her time with the Empire? Or--

He squeezed her hand. He couldn’t think about the thing that might be worse, and wouldn’t ask her. Surely not. Not the Handmaidens. Not Sabé.

But just as Dojj and his mother were powerless to keep Cosi out of harm’s reach if Watto decided she was worth enough to sell, was there anyone who could’ve kept Sabé safe once she was in the hands of Imperials? Did she even have any family? What would’ve happened to them if they’d tried to intervene on her behalf?

Sabé tensed, her body rigid as she sat upright. For a moment Obi-Wan thought she was responding to his emotional state again...but he felt her attention focused up and to their right.

He followed her intention, aware now that she’d raised her blaster, and saw a dark, hairy back glistening on top of a rocky rise--a zucca boar. Too far to shoot, he thought.

Until she shot it.

The blast cracked across the canyon and reverberated like thunder in his ears.

“Dinner." She slid down from Nagpal’s back and ran slipshod toward the rocks.

Was she going to climb?

Obi-Wan dismounted, too, and stood holding the reins as she drew closer to the ziggurat. He looked up and down the Draw. They appeared to be alone, but something niggled at him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Turning his attention back to Sabé, he dropped the reins and began to cross the distance. She tucked her blaster into the sash of her tunic and gripped the jutting stones with her bare hands, slipping the toes of her boots into cracks he couldn’t see from here, and began to scale the cliff’s facade.

“Let me get it,” he called. “I could--” He wiggled his fingers in a silly demonstration of the Force, but she wasn’t looking. “Oh, for stars’ sake…”

He could lift the boar and save her the trouble of climbing. Or he could lift _her_ and save her from breaking her lovely neck.

A screech echoed through the canyon. His neck prickled again, and not because of the carrion birds that had already caught the scent of fresh blood and circled above the clifftops. “Sabé…”

A shot from a cycler rifle sounded just over her head, exploding sand mere feet from where Obi-Wan stood. He dove to one side and rolled.

“Sabé!” Leaping to his feet, he sprinted toward her. She’d twisted her body where she clung, trying to see him.

Just behind her, on either side of the boar, rose two Sand People, shaking their gaderffii sticks, their bellows drowning out Nagpal's distressed bleating.

“No,” Obi-Wan murmured, kicking up sand as he ran faster.

But where had the shot come from? He couldn’t help her if a Tusken killed him on his way there. Scanning the top of the mountain behind the two Tuskens above Sabé, he finally saw a glint--goggles, or a rifle scope.

He threw out a hand and sent the Tusken flying. The cycler rifle discharged into the air in a burst of noise.

Now for the other two.

But Sabé, still clinging to the rock face with one hand, had raised her blaster and now pointed it at Obi-Wan. He dove to the ground, coughing up dust as she fired three blasts beyond him. Lifting his head, he saw two more Sand People unmoving on the sands, hands slack on weapons he could only presume had been trained on him. A third had the eopie’s reins and tugged on them. Hiding behind Nagpal’s girth so Sabé couldn’t get a clear shot, it raised its gaderffii and struck the beast’s rump, making him bay pitifully in pain and fear and stumble a few steps in the direction the Tusken was trying to take him.

On the rocky rise, one Tusken dragged away the boar while the other stalked toward Sabé, helpless where she hung. She had her blaster, but a swipe from the gaderffii would be the end of her. The creature now lay on its belly, reaching for her with a gloved hand.

On his hands and knees, Obi-Wan drew serenity from the Force.

 _I choose you_.

He stood to full height, raised a hand, and swatted the Tusken Raider away. It tumbled head over feet and fell into the dust at the base of the cliff, neck cracking just before its body fell in an unnatural heap and lay still.

For a moment, he could see the whites of Sabé’s eyes widen at the sight below her, but then they locked onto Obi-Wan, and he darted toward her again. “I’m fine. Save Nagpal!” She turned her back to him and began the climb down.

He dragged his senses from her to ensure that the other Tusken above her was well on its way back to the tribe with the dead boar, then he turned to cross back to the one trying to steal Nagpal and their saddlebags of food.

When it saw him coming, it backed away from the eopie and raised its gaderffii--as Obi-Wan had known it would. He raised his fingers and flicked away its weapon. It bellowed, perhaps in rage or confusion, and ran toward the Jedi, robes flapping around its limber frame.

Obi-Wan raised both hands, gathered the Force to him, and _pushed_.

The Tusken hit the cliff face, slid downward, and didn’t move again.

When he turned, Sabé was with him, breathing hard, eyes bright with exertion and emotion. He panted in rhythm with her, fairly aching to tug her to him and kiss her.

“You should’ve brought your lightsaber,” she breathed.

~*~

Obi-Wan swung down from Nagpal's back with a groan, touching his feet gingerly to the ground at first, gradually lowering his weight onto them--then Sabé's, as he helped her to dismount. Every muscle in his body was stiff and sore from hours in the saddle and the skirmish with the Sand People, his mind equally fatigued by keeping vigilant since dawn and musing on his companion. And of course all under the oppression of two suns. He wanted nothing but to stand under the spray of a real water shower till it ran cold, then to fall into his bed and sleep.

That was not to be, however, and not merely because water showers were all but unheard of on Tatooine. First there was the eopie to tend to, and the purchases from the market to put away. For all the times he'd thought he might go mad with boredom in his hermitage, this was one he wished for much less to keep him busy.

But he didn't have to do it all on his own. There was a division of labor now. Between the two of them, they unloaded and unsaddled Nagpal, rubbed him down and led him to his shed with a trough of cool water and feed, checked that the vaporator hadn't become clogged or otherwise broken (Sabé asked him to teach her sometime how it worked), and retreated to the cool of the hovel much sooner than he would've been if he were alone.

While Sabé had the first shower, Obi-Wan restocked the kitchen pantry shelves and cellar bin, leaving the two Tusken cycler rifles Sabé had scavenged on his workbench for her to tinker with another day. Bedroll tucked under his arm, he paused to etch another mark in the wall. This certainly had been one of his more eventful days in two years. In the beginning, he'd kept a journal of his exile, but abandoned it when the entries were just the same, day after day. This would be worth writing about...if he could find the book amidst his clutter...or the energy to pick up a pen and form words.

As he emerged from the trapdoor to the cellar, Sabé came out of the 'fresher, dressed for bed with the sweaty and sand-caked clothes she'd worn today balled in her hands. "Throw yours outside the door and I'll get them in the wash," she instructed him, and he complied.

By the time he'd stood for a long time in the sonic shower, the vibrations relaxing his tight muscles as they lifted the grime from his skin, his longing for a water shower had abated somewhat. Or perhaps he was simply too dead on his feet to care.

"I'm too tired for dinner." Sabé, spreading out the bedroll in the living room, echoed his thoughts when he joined her, also dressed for bed.

After switching on the space heater for the cold night, Obi-Wan grabbed a knife and the jogan fruit and held the latter up for her to see. "How about a snack?"

As her drooping eyelids lifted in surprise, he found that his cheek muscles, at least, had the strength to pull into a grin that mirrored the one that bloomed on her haggard face. Indeed, they looked rather alike, in their almost identical loose cotton shirts and pants, hair nearly the same length, their height not disparate and both of them lean. The marked difference, of course, being his beard.

Stumbling over the edge of the rug, Sabé came to him, cradled the fruit in her fingertips as though it were something precious. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips as though she could taste its juice already.

"You shouldn't have," she said, gaze darting up from the striped rind. "They cost a fortune--"

"We earned it." Obi-Wan lowered himself onto the edge of the bed with a sigh, dragged a hand across his bleary eyes, then looked up at her. "Tatooine revealed a lot of its crueller sides today."

It was only a matter of time before she saw more of them.

Sabé passed the fruit back to him and sat at the foot of the mattress. “I’ve seen my share of cruelty.”

He paused with the point of the paring knife on the fruit’s skin. There was something in her tone that made him look up. It seemed as though she had more to say, and that she didn’t want to say it.

 _I know the feeling_ , he almost said aloud. Instead, he settled with his back against the curve of the alcove, resting the fruit and the knife on his knees. He could wait. That was one thing he knew how to do.

Mirroring his position, she drew up her knees and picked at a loose thread in the inseam of her sleep pants. Her fingertips were scratched and raw from clinging to the cliff’s face, and she seemed to notice them anew, rubbing her thumb across the pads.

“I wish I could say my motives for turning down that job today were purely altruistic," she began, "but it was more personal than that."

Obi-Wan's fingers tightened around the handle of the knife as his mind leapt to the only possible conclusion he could draw, the worst case scenario he'd denied earlier. Not Sabé...

"We were detained on Coruscant for a while," she said, "but eventually we were transferred to a prison on Dathomir. On...on a dungeon ship."

His mouth dropped open in spite of his attempt to maintain an open expression. He didn’t know which disturbed him more, the dungeon ship, or Dathomir. He’d been to the planet and had heard stories about the prison, each one worse than the last. It was rumored that even Jedi couldn’t escape the energy cells.

The dungeon ships, though...Those had been in use during the Mandalorian Civil War. Obi-Wan knew them to be vessels of misery, every bit as wretched as slave ships. Worse, perhaps, for slaves held more value to their captors than prisoners.

Who had been with her? During her fever, she’d muttered the names of two other Handmaidens, Dormé and Moteé--

“The ship had a panopticon,” Sabé went on. “The Troopers could see every prisoner, and every prisoner could see all the others. In the center there was a pit.”

She stopped, and Obi-Wan noticed that her fingers shook. She tucked them behind her knees.

“The prison didn’t have room for all of us yet, so the ship orbited Dothomir until there were enough cells.” Another pause, a shaky breath, during which time he didn’t have to imagine what circumstance would create an empty cell. “To make the rations go further...hell, to pass the time, the Troopers...”

He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to say it, whatever it was. A sensation of something wet dribbling over the back of his thumb drew his attention. He’d accidentally pressed the blade into the fruit, and the juice had run across his skin and onto his shirt. He rubbed his hand against the fabric, heedless of the stains it would leave.

“The Troopers made the prisoners fight each other in that pit.” She locked her eyes on Obi-Wan. “They made Jedi fight.”

 _The Jedi._ For the space of a heartbeat, hope climbed. They hadn't all been slaughtered. Some had escaped. He wasn't the last. Then he remembered Sabé's fevered ramblings: _But you're dead, the Jedi are all dead_ , _I saw it._ Hope lost its grip and free fell the depth of the panopticon.

"They wouldn't kill each other, of course," Sabé said. "So the Troopers would do it. I begged them to choose me. I wanted to fight, to _help._ If for no other reason than to save...even one Jedi."

Her voice was muffled, spoken into her knees as she curled into them.

She didn't speak again. Obi-Wan remained silent, too, for how long, he didn't know. Minutes ticked by, unaccounted for, like the days and nights she must have lost track of aboard the dungeon ship, with only the steady glow of the energy barriers for light. Even in his own solitude, he'd been able to mark time.

Sabé didn't move as he shifted to set the jogan fruit and knife on the round table beside the bed. Even when he placed a hand on her forearm folded across her drawn up legs, she didn't look up.

"You did," he said.

At that, she raised her head. No sign of tears, but that didn't surprise him. Everything was dried up, here.

"You saved one today."

Not that he was much of a Jedi anymore.

Her chin taut, she replied, "After I drew the Sand People out by shooting that karking boar."

"If they hadn't had the distraction of an easy dinner, their full attention would've been on us. They’d have surrounded us from both sides.”

Sabé seemed to accept this point. At least, she didn't argue it, as she stared at his fingers still resting on her forearm. "Shame they made off with our boar, though."

Obi-Wan released her and sat back, swiveling to retrieve the jogan fruit. "I'd have been more upset if they'd taken this. Truth be told, I'm not overly fond of pork."

"Well, how could you be, when you have snake?" She gave a snort that might be a laugh. He looked up in time to see the wink of her dimples.

His own smile lingered as he cut into the fruit and pried out the pit, setting it on the table.

"She's very brave," Qui-Gon said, appearing across the table, sitting cross-legged on the rug as though to eat with them.

"She is," Obi-Wan replied.

" _She?_ " Sabé asked.

Stars, he'd spoken aloud. Lovely. Sabé would think him a madman, too.

"I'm not referring to your skirmish," Qui-Gon went on, "though of course she was fearless then, too."

 _I know what you're referring to_.

"Tell her," Qui-Gon said, and disappeared.

Obi-Wan cut off a small slice of jogan and passed it to Sabé, who bit it in half. Paring off a slice for himself, he joined her in silence, both relishing the sweetness for as long as it would linger in their mouths. When she was done, he carved off two more. On it went, the slicing and chewing, for nearly the span of a full mealtime.

At last they’d reached the last two bits of fruit.

He held his own slice to  his lips as he watched her chew and swallow, savoring the sight of her enjoying the fruit, for he didn't know when they'd have another. When he finally opened his mouth and popped his portion inside, he almost wished he'd given it to her; it didn't taste as sweet as it had been to observe her.

Now that there was nothing left to do beside lick the last of the juice from their purple-stained fingertips, his exhausted thoughts drifted again to what she’d shared. It was no small thing, her confession, and he hadn’t needed Qui-Gon to point it out.

But his Master was right that he ought to acknowledge it. She’d honored him with the gift of her pain, and he needed to accept it with grace and welcome.

Slipping under the sheet and sliding farther into the alcove, he didn’t realize he’d made room for Sabé--or that she’d joined him there--until they lay face to face, the covers pulled up to their chins. Her eyelids were already closing for longer and longer periods.

When he thought they’d shut for good, he whispered, “Thank you for telling me. That was brave of you.”

He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet when he heard her sigh, a long release.


	7. Chapter 7

Sabé dreamed of the river. It flowed along the edge of a great grassy plateau to a waterfall, or cut between barren cliffs of rock. The Solleu on Naboo, or one that didn't exist on Tatooine, but always a river. Perhaps because the last thing she saw before sleep came was the blue of Obi-Wan's eyes, his face turned toward her, very close on the narrow bed.

They slept in the bed together every night now. During the day, too, when they napped through the heat of the afternoon, or simply to pass the time. Although she'd never shared her bed with a man before, she readily gave herself over to the water dreams, to the steady undulation of Obi-Wan's breath beside her. She watched his chest rise and fall beneath the off-white of his shirt and imagined the frothing crests of waves leaping and falling on their courses, and was lulled to sleep.

His quiet presence muted her own oppressive thoughts, even when he talked to himself. Sometimes he chuckled, at others he glared at a spot on the wall and made a snarky remark. Each “conversation” seemed necessary, and he only blushed after the fact when he caught her looking. Often he talked in his sleep, only she wasn’t certain whether he was simply having another of his one-sided chats. Sooner or later, the whispers always stopped, and he drifted off himself.

There were times when his resting seemed to go further than natural sleep--was he meditating?--and Sabé felt its pull, like a current dragging her along...but not to her death. When she sensed this, it felt rather like nourishment, or healing, and it was all she could do not to rest a hand on Obi-Wan’s body somewhere, to drink deeper from that elixir. Perhaps she was going mad, too, in the heat and the silence. But it felt right, so she didn’t question it.

They never touched, despite the narrowness of the bed. That first night, they'd lain still as corpses until Sabé woke long past sunrise and had to climb over him to go to the 'fresher. They never talked about how they'd ended up sleeping together, nor about whether they would continue to do so. Obi-Wan had looked up at her as he rolled the unused mat, and she'd given her head a shake; no, they wouldn't need that again. The next time they'd crawled beneath the sheets together, and thereafter, he lay rigidly, as if avoiding contact were a deliberate act rather than the result of utter exhaustion. But she always felt him relax, give in to the flow of the river that carried them both away. With each waking, he looked more rested, and she felt it, too.

For the first few days after the attack, Sabé hadn't felt ready to tackle the Tuskens’ cycler rifles. The old Sabé wouldn’t have hesitated, would’ve seized the opportunity to increase her firepower and improve her odds of survival. She'd scoffed inwardly at Obi-Wan’s explanation for not carrying his lightsaber, but perhaps a part of her, too, had enough of violence.

Instead, she’d followed Obi-Wan as he went about his days: an inflexible routine, such as it was, with a healthy nap thrown into the heat of midday. She’d learned all about his vaporator, how to harvest the water each morning and check that all the parts remained in working order, including the patch-in droid. She’d taken on feeding and caring for Nagpal, insisting to Obi-Wan that he add scratches and pats on the muzzle to rubbing him down and filling his grain trough. They took turns keeping watch as they let the eopie out to graze on scrubby plants, which was how he stayed hydrated. And one night, Obi-Wan told her what they should do when the next sandstorm hit, the most important being leading Nagpal into his shelter and shutting him inside. Perhaps he liked the animal more than she’d thought.

But all of this, in addition to preparing their own meager meals, only filled so many hours. Nor could she allow the quiet of routine to lull her into a false sense of safety.

Finally, three days after the skirmish in the Draw, Sabé sat at Obi-Wan’s workbench, the scents of their stored vegetables mingling with old engine oil, hard-packed dirt, and clean laundry. She’d cleared off a collection of gadgets and laid both rifles on the worn table. After showing her where everything was, he'd left her to it and retreated upstairs. To do what, she didn't know. Simply avoid firearms? He hadn't protested when she took them off the Sand People she'd shot, so he must see the necessity of having adequate protection in a wilderness like this. Then again, he may simply have found it unwise to argue with a woman who'd added two rifles to her personal arsenal.

Not that she believed for a moment, after having seen him fling the Tuskens into the cliffsides, that she was actually a match for even an unarmed Jedi.

Jedi weren't meant to kill, though.

Sabé pushed the thought from her mind, the images of the prisoners she'd told him about, and fixed her attention on the two rifles. She knew they worked, because she'd tested them this morning. For which she felt slightly guilty, because poor Nagpal had jolted and let out a panicky bray, no doubt reliving the trauma of the attack--but not _too_ guilty, because she'd shot a sandhawk, and there would be fresh meat for their evening meal. What she wanted to know was _how_ the Tusken Cyclers worked. They were unlike any weaponry she'd used.

Slug throwers were simultaneously more archaic and more precise than modern blasters, and one of these had been fitted with a karking good scope. Both rifles had incredible range. The one without the scope--at least its sights were decent--had a widened chamber to accommodate larger slugs, surely to inflict greater damage. She wondered if Obi-Wan had anything that could be modified into a second scope for that one. Sifting through her memory of munitions training and the stultifyingly boring reading she’d had to do--why hadn’t she tried to stay awake longer?--she didn’t think it was possible to increase the rapidity of the bolt action mechanism.

Inside the magazine of the one with the scope waited three slugs; the other had five. She’d feel better if she could get a cache of more.

Now for the energy casings. It appeared they worked much as a blaster’s bolts did, but they encased the solid slug just before discharge. Elegant, she had to admit. Despite the rough-hewn appearance of the rifles, and the circuitous carvings the Sand People had etched into their stocks, the precision surpassed anything she’d seen carried by a Storm Trooper.

Sabé cleaned them meticulously with some oil she dug out of Obi-Wan’s toolbox, scraped out sand and grime from every movable part with a tiny splinter of wood, and buffed the stocks and muzzles with a shop rag. Once that was done, she slung each rifle by its strap over a shoulder and went upstairs, fingers trailing the hatch marks that lined the north wall as she went.

After the cool dim of the cellar, the main part of the house was so bright that she squinted as she emerged. Obi-Wan's head appeared around the corner of the kitchen, and she burst out laughing. He looked at her askance, eyebrows hitching upward beneath the hair that fell over his forehead.

"You've got feathers in your beard."

"And you've got rifles on your back." One hand went up to scrub his face, but the sandhawk down clung stubbornly to the bristly hair.

Sabé shrugged off the rifle straps, hung them on the empty peg beside his cloak and, before she fully considered what she was doing, crossed the short hall and plucked the feathers out herself.

She heard his soft intake of breath, but no exhale followed. His beard was softer than it looked. She wanted to go on stroking it, to find each of the white hairs among the mingled golden and rust, but lowered her hand. Obi-Wan breathed again and turned back to the kitchen. When the blue of his eyes had disappeared, Sabé felt oddly bereft. For a moment, she watched the set of his shoulders as he retreated, then she followed.

While she washed her hands at the kitchen sink, he stood over the denuded sandhawk on the cutting board, running his fingers over his beard in a look of deep concentration. She shook her hands dry, found a bulb of garlic on the pantry shelf, and snapped off a clove. Obi-Wan didn't move when she came to stand beside him. His arm brushed against her as he reached across to get a knife for her. Their fingertips met on the handle as she took it from him. She pressed the flat of the blade to the garlic clove to crack open the papery peel, and their tunic sleeves whispered together, though they prepared the rest of the meal in silence.

Surrounded by garlic, onions, peppers, squash, and spices, the colorful display of the bird in its roasting pan looked almost funereal as Obi-Wan slid it into the small pot-bellied oven. An hour later, they'd picked half of it clean, crispy golden skin and tender meat, down to the bones, making as efficient work of it as if they were themselves carrion birds. Uncivilized, perhaps, Sabé thought as they licked the savory juices from their fingers, but better that than walking dead, the two ghosts who'd haunted the synstone hovel up until three days ago.

They were coming back to life.

~*~

The Starfalls’ homestead sprawled across the barren landscape like a handful of scattered toys, and looked just as incongruous. Once Obi-Wan and Sabé reached the southern end of the Xelric Draw and passed between a set of small dunes--one could hardly even call them foothills--the dwellings appeared almost as a mirage beneath the Wastes. Obi-Wan hadn't said much during the ride; presumably he had his senses attuned to predators, and probably used the Force to do it. Sabé had settled for keeping her eyes peeled and one of her new rifles at the ready. The one without the sight she'd left at home, but she’d strapped her blaster to her hip when she noted the absence of Obi-Wan's lightsaber in their packs.

Two slim figures, wrapped head to toe in neutral clothing and headscarves, swept sand from the buildings’ windows on the south side. Eopie pens and a coop for fowl nestled behind them, and some free-ranging mesa goats leapt along the cliffside beyond. Just as Sabé was wondering how they managed to round them all up every night, Sim strode through a breezeway, drawn by the barking of dogs that underscored their arrival on the property. She thought she saw another small face peer around an open doorway, but it was gone before she got a good look.

As SIm called out a greeting in tones of undisguised surprise, his dark eyes fixed on the barrel of the rifle slung over her shoulder. His own hand hovered near the blaster on his hip. Sabé smirked beneath the folds of her scarf as she dismounted. They'd come to return the pie plate and milk bottles, and to bring a pair of hawks in thanks for the family's kindness--even if it had been offered in fear that she was in trouble. Nothing like a rifle taken from an attacker to prove you weren't in any danger.

"Didn't expect to see you two out here." Sim glanced from Sabé to Obi-Wan, who followed several paces behind with the gear. His gaze returned to her face, scrutinizing as she tugged her scarf down to pool around her neck. "Things seem...less difficult."

Sabé nodded, resisting the impulse to point out that obviously she’d made it outside this time. "We brought you these. To show our gratitude."

Sim's eyes rounded almost comically at the brace of sandhawks she held up, bound together around the ankles, then his hand moved from the weapon at his hip to scrub at the back of his head.

"You shot sandhawks? With _that_?"

"Is that a Tusken rifle?" asked one of the wrapped-up figures, who'd come closer to see the visitors--Wulfric, Sabé recognized. " _Wizard._ "

Her heart stuttered, until she reminded herself that “wizard” was an expression of amazement on Tatooine, nothing more. She glanced at Obi-Wan, whose face betrayed nothing as he handed the boy the dish and bottles.

“How’d you get hold of that?” The kid was persistent, she had to admit.

“We were attacked on our way home from Mos Espa the other day. I had my blaster,” she said, patting her sidearm.

Wulfric’s eyes went from the rifle to her blaster to her face, his eyes rounding in the same way his father’s had done. “You...shot...Tuskens.”

Sabé nodded.

“I was lucky she was there,” added Obi-Wan. “I would’ve been woefully outnumbered.”

Wulfric scanned Obi-Wan’s clothing, then squinted up at him, but didn’t ask where his weapon was. Perhaps he was relieved “Crazy Ben” was unarmed.

Having retrieved Wulfric’s abandoned broom, the other figure approached. Female, Sabé could see now. Green eyes framed by pale lashes peered out from within her headscarf, and freckles dotted the knuckles that gripped their two broom handles.

“This is Dayne, our second-born," Sim said. “Dayne, Sabé and Ben.”

Again the rounded eyes. Sabé had to restrain a snort.

“Hello,” said Dayne, recovering quickly. She tucked a broom under one arm and offered her hand. But while she clasped Sabé’s, her eyes drifted toward Obi-Wan, and she seemed to comprehend that she ought to shake his, too. To her credit, she did, though she withdrew as soon as she politely could.

Sim rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and shot his visitors a brief smile. Perhaps Sabé would be forgiven her rudeness in refusing to shake his hand the first time they’d met. “Would you like to come in out of the heat for a bit?” he asked.

“A rest would be most welcome,” said Obi-Wan. He withdrew his hood, ran a sleeve across his brow. "For us and Nagpal."

"Weird name."

" _Wulfric._ "

"What? It is."

Sabé thought she saw Obi-Wan's mustache twitch. Cheeks prickling, she averted her eyes, half-expecting him to announce that she was behind the unorthodox eopie name--or maybe beasts of burden weren't named at all on Tatooine--but he said nothing. Either to spare her further embarrassment, or to preserve his own mad persona.

"You can get used to Nagpal’s name while you take him to the corral," Sim said.

The teenager's face pulled into a glower, but his eyes glinted as he said, "Yes, sir," deposited the dish and bottles into his father's arms, and pivoted away. Sim rolled his eyes, and a glance at Obi-Wan revealed him to be looking on at the exchange with an expression of bemused empathy.

Dayne led the way through a breezeway into a courtyard, around which a series of adjoining domed buildings, each easily the size of Obi-Wan's entire house, formed a circle. A vaporator stood in the very middle, as a fountain might in a more elegant dwelling. It looked newer than Obi-Wan's, and despite its functionality, didn't entirely lack aesthetic appeal, for a few carefully tended plants grew around it, between the doorways, too, vivid green foliage breaking up the monochromatic synstone.

The buildings' arrangement allowed the breeze in, while also blocking out some of the ever present sand, and Sabé inhaled deeply for what felt like the first time since she'd arrived on the desert planet. A sweet scent wafted into her nostrils, an aroma she knew, fruity, but couldn't immediately identify…She darted her eyes to Obi-Wan at her side and saw recognition on his face, too. Something Coruscanti?

"Mom!" Dayne called out, steps dancing a little quicker ahead toward the open doorway of the central building, through which the smell emanated. Smoke curled from a small chimney on the rounded roof. It must be the kitchen. "Mom, she's here!"

"Who?" a woman’s voice drifted out.  

"The lady Ben the hermit rescued!"

"Oh! My stars."

Muted sounds of her speaking to someone else inside followed, and then the woman, Mari, appeared in the doorway. Although she dressed plainly in a sand-colored skirt, greyish-green blouse, and a loosely knitted jacket and she was only a little taller than her daughter, who went to stand next to her, Mari nevertheless made a striking figure. Strands of coppery hair fell down from the loose knot at her nape, and a smattering of freckles gave her a youthful appearance though the twin suns must be harsh on skin that fair. Her mouth had opened in greeting as she stepped through the door, but she stopped short when she saw that Sabé had not come alone. Obi-Wan went rigid beside her, and Sabé thought guiltily of the note she'd torn to bits and flushed down the toilet.

"Sabé shot us a couple of sandhawks," Sim filled the silence, and Mari's green eyes dropped to the birds Sabé clutched. "Hope you saved some extra berries to make muja sauce."

"I thought I smelled muja fruit," Obi-Wan said.

 _Muja fruit_.

Mari looked up and, recovering her composure, smiled. "Come in and have a glass of juice. It's fresh-squeezed. You must be thirsty from your ride."

Taking the birds from Sabé with a grateful smile, she ushered them through a short hall where they removed their shoes, Obi-Wan his cloak, and Sabé her guns, then down a step into a bright galley kitchen, where two more children--with dark hair and eyes like their elder brother and father--stood on duraplast stepstools helping with the cooking chores. Behind Sabé, Sim opened an overhead cabinet and put away the plate and bottles.

"Kids," their mother instructed as she hung the hawks from a hook over the sink, "can you introduce yourselves to Ben and Sabé?"

"I'm Tuva," said the little girl who'd been stirring a pot of berries bubbling on the cooktop, "and I'm nine. That's Gunnar. He's seven."

The boy, whose face bore signs of sampling the berries he was supposed to be mashing in an earthenware bowl, scowled. "Seven and a _half_. Are you Crazy Ben?"

Mari inhaled to rebuke the boy, but Obi-Wan put up a hand.

"I am," he said with a gentle smile as he bent to look the child in the eye. “Are you Gunnar the womp rat killer?”

The kid’s face broadened in a grin. “I am!”

"You're in good company. This is Sabé the zucca boar slayer."

"A zucca boar _and_ sandhawks?" Sim threw back over his shoulder as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink. Sabé could see him working through what sort of a woman she was, when last he'd seen of her she was having a panic attack but now handled weaponry with ease. Well, that made two of them.

"The Tuskens got to it before we could," she replied.

"That happened to Dad once,” put in Tuva sagely, stirring the compote as she shook her head. “Those Tuskens are incorrigible.”

Sim snickered and shared a glance with Mari, and Sabé didn’t have to wonder how Tuva had picked up that word.

The two youngest might have been twins, except that Tuva was taller. They shared the same tousled, bowl-cut hair and an identical impish expression. Sabé could imagine it must be easier for Mari to keep those two close at hand, even if they slowed down meal preparation.

Mari turned from the countertop and held out the two cups she’d poured from a pitcher while Sim filled two more for himself and his wife. Sabé wrapped her fingers around the cool glass and looked at the orange-red liquid before dipping her head to inhale the scent. The berries grew on Naboo, and she’d been delighted to find them on Coruscant, as well.

And most unexpectedly, here.

How long since she'd eased homesickness by remembering summer days in the countryside, picking berries with her friends and carrying basketfuls home to make juice and jellies with her mother, just as Mari Starfall did with her children?

It didn't ease the feeling now.

She lifted her gaze to Obi-Wan as he, too, paused with his glass near his lips, wandering for a moment into a memory of his own. Sensing her watching him, his eyes met hers, and he smiled slightly beneath his mustache, eyes crinkling at the corners. Just as he'd looked at her before devouring the jogan fruit Mari had sent. They'd have to measure their reactions to the juice, lest their hosts think them uncivilized. Even bearing this in mind, once the slight tartness, cut by honey, hit her tongue, and rolled so cool and refreshing down her throat, it was all she could do not to moan and gulp it all down.

“I’m do-one!” Gunnar announced in a sing-song voice as he pushed the bowl of crushed berries toward his mother, nearly upsetting them. His fingers, too, were bright orange from sampling the fruits.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she murmured, snatching the bowl just before it spilled and dumping its contents into the pot Tuva stirred. “That’s it, slow and steady, so it won’t stick.”

“May I be excused?” asked Gunnar.

“You may.”

The boy scampered the length of the kitchen, jabbed his feet into shoes, and bounded out into the courtyard.

“Hey!” protested Tuva. “How come _he_ gets to go play?”

“You, too,” Mari sighed. “Go on now.”

Tuva beat a hasty exit just after her brother, while Dayne took her place at the cooktop, minding the berries as they broke down to a compote. She'd removed her head scarf to reveal hair the same color as her mother's, pulled back in a low nerf-tail.

"They're good helpers," Mari said, "but sometimes I need a break from being asked if I'm going to make muffins and doughnuts."

" _Are_ you going to make muffins and doughnuts?" Sim asked.

“Incorrigible,” Mari muttered, but as she turned away from him Sabé caught the flush on her cheeks as a smile brightened her eyes. “Keep stirring, Dayne. Ten more minutes, then put it in those jars while it’s still hot.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“Let’s go sit outside,” said Mari, ushering the adults back the way they’d come to retrieve their shoes.

“Apart from your run-in with the Tuskens,” asked Sim as he led them to a couple of synstone benches in a patch of shade, “are things all right out at your place? Any trouble with Jawas?”

Obi-Wan sipped his juice, dabbed his fingertips to his mustache before shaking his head. "I can't recall the last time a band of Jawas came by."

"Been about six months," Sim replied, rubbing the underside of his chin. He stared at Obi-Wan as though he were trying to work _him_ out, as well. "That's what's so peculiar."

"We should just be grateful," Mari said. "For as long as it lasts. It's a nice change not to always worry about the droids or the speeder being stolen."

“Our dogs are getting fat and lazy,” said Sim. “I’m surprised they barked at you.”

In the heat of the late morning, Sabé’s attention drifted through the buzz of voices around her. She’d long since finished her juice and felt the glass grow slippery between her sweaty fingers. She set it on the sandy earth at her feet. When she raised her gaze again, she saw the two younger children across the courtyard, in full sun, playing a game in which they faced each other and called commands. Hadn’t she played something like that with her friends at school?

Tuva disappeared for a while, leaving Gunnar to kick through the sand as though he were a herd of banthas, but soon she returned with a couple of items--props, or costumes. Sabé smiled, remembering how simple it once was to befriend someone, how easy to make one’s own happiness from next to nothing.

She turned back to the group of adults and tried to refocus. Sim and Mari were asking about the news in Mos Espa and Obi-Wan, thankfully, recalled the podracing they’d watched in the cantina. The only thing Sabé could remember about it was  the lush countryside around the racing course. Her gaze drifted across the courtyard to one of the plants growing in the corner of two synstone walls. She wanted to ask how they got enough water, but Mari was telling Obi-Wan about her father's garage in Mos Espa, and how she'd been brought up working on podracers.

"That must have been a change of pace, moving out to a moisture farm," Obi-Wan observed.

"Believe it or not, I'd rather tinker with vaporators than racers," Mari replied. "And even with Tuskens and Jawas, it's safer for the kids out here--"

"Hey! Knock it off, you two!" Sim called out to the younger children, who were bickering over who got to wear the scrap of dark fabric as a cape.

"Tuva was it last time!" called Gunnar.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Work it out for yourselves," Sim said. " _Without_ fighting." He turned back to the adults, shaking his head, and sipped his juice. "Stars help anyone that ever tried to go after those two…" His eyes met Sabé's. "How'd _you_ run afoul of Jabba's thugs?"

Sabé glanced at Obi-Wan, almost hoping he’d answer for her--then she shook herself. That wasn’t her. Was it?

“I had the Dantari flu--” Sim nodded while Mari looked on politely; he must’ve told her. “--and I thought I could get some antibiotics from the black market. It was...a mistake.”

Something in Obi-Wan’s breathing changed. She looked at him quickly. “Well, not entirely. I did get the help I needed.”

She winced. Actually winced. _Just stop talking now_. But that wasn’t her, either. She faced Obi-Wan again, squared her shoulders. “I can never repay you for that.”

But he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was trained on the yard, where Wulfric had joined his younger siblings' game. Apparently he'd solved the problem over who got to wear the cape by draping it over his own shoulders. His face was hidden by what appeared to be an old bucket with a pair of tinted goggles inserted in the front so he could see out of his makeshift helmet. He brandished a broom handle, painted red.

Sabé, too, could only draw shallow breaths, She stopped breathing entirely when she heard the muffled, deep voice from within the mask.

"Vader says... _on the ground!"_

He swept out his hand, and Tuva and Gunnar dropped, screaming, into the dust.

"Vader says... _stop your pathetic screaming._ "

Tuva and Gunnar's screams dissolved into giggles. But someone, somewhere, was sobbing. Was it her?

She was standing. No, not standing--upright, restrained in that _thing_. Everything hurt, and everything could hurt worse, she knew that. If she could just close her eyes, block out those blank, staring eyes...but the black, gloved hand could _get inside_. She must not think of Padmé, must not, must not, or he’d follow her there, make her speak her thoughts aloud...

“I didn’t say _Vader says_!”

They leapt up and ran away from the black figure, who chased them with his red saber, growling and slashing, the children screeching and squealing. One of them fell face first in the dirt, and Vader was upon her--

"Dormé!"

She’d screamed it aloud, rushed forward, felt arms around her, twirling her back to face the way she’d come. The widened eyes of a man and a woman, who’d risen from their seats. No, the danger was behind her, couldn’t they see? Why wouldn’t they help?

“Let’s go,” a voice said in her ear.

“Get off me!”

The hands released her at once. There were no gloves on them. She reached out for the wall. The door was open, unlocked, she could leave anytime she wished.

She trailed her hand along the wall as she stepped away from her cell, wondered where the hatch marks had gone.

"Dayne's still inside," she heard a woman whisper.

A cloak hanging on the wall. A rifle on the shelf. She'd disguise herself. Be someone else.

But who?

_"Sabé."_

_Sabé_ \--yes, that was her name. They never called her by it.

"Sabé…Stay with me here…"

 _Stay with me._ The words that had called her from her fever dream. Was she burning again now? She didn't think so, but she heeded the call once more.

She blinked. Not black, blank eyes. Blue. _The river._

 _Obi-Wan._ But she couldn't call him that, not here. "Ben."

He nodded. Let out his breath. Ran his fingers through his long, unkempt hair. They were shaking. So were hers, as Mari pressed a glass of water into her hand. Sabé sipped, dutifully, then gulped, let the river wash over her. She was sweating.

The Starfalls. That was the family’s name. They’d brought food. She’d brought _them_ food. She owed them nothing. She could still leave, and live with the damage she’d just done.

Sim crossed the courtyard to her--where had the children gone? Had Vader…? No. No, it was a _game_ , and their father had sent them off.

She had to sit down.

Obi-Wan helped her back to the bench they’d just vacated, where she finished the glass of water and held it out. A hand took it and eventually brought it back, full once more. _But water is precious_ , something told her. The river. Tears.

She drank again.

When she lowered the glass to her knees, her fingers wrapped around it as though in prayer, she finally spoke.

“Barvy Ben has nothing on Mad Sabé.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, all you new readers who joined us last week! So very pleased to have you along for the journey, and hope you continue to enjoy it. Thanks so much for all the feedback, one and all. Each and every comment means the world to us. <3
> 
> We imagine Julianne Moore in the role of Mari Starfall. You can cast who you like as Dayne, Tuva, and Gunnar. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

The river carried her.

A waking dream this time, the high twin suns glaring off white sands, transforming the dunes to liquid. Up and down, rising and falling, the eopie's uneven gait the nearest thing one could feel to a boat tossed by waves.

Sweat drenched Sabé's tunic, Obi-Wan's, too, as she leaned against his back. Or perhaps it was her tears. She'd begun to weep the moment the Starfall homestead sank beneath the rolling horizon, though the tears evaporated almost as soon as they touched her skin. Raindrops on scorched earth. Her body’s ashes floating downstream.

Obi-Wan's back shuddered against her cheek and chest. Was he crying, too? She sniffled into the coarse fabric of his cloak, held tighter to him. The only comfort she could muster, though it must seem more for her own benefit than his.

He started muttering to himself about an hour into their trip home. Sabé tried not to listen, but there wasn’t much hope for it while she clung to his back. Most of his words were indistinguishable, whispers under his hood that didn’t carry to her ears. But eventually he spoke audibly.

“Yes, it was.”

He paused as though listening for a response.

“I should’ve ended it.” His voice rose in pitch, and she sensed an emotion almost like panic. “You know as well as I do.”

Another silence, during which she tried not to consider what _ending it_ might have meant. Not that she hadn’t contemplated the same thing. More than once.

“Of _course_ it was my fault.”

A long moment, during which she thought he might have stopped his ranting. She couldn’t judge him, not after her two very public breakdowns, but it was no wonder people thought him insane. What had happened to him? The Obi-Wan she’d known had been a very different man, cordial and full of humor. The Negotiator, they’d called him.

This man barely spoke, and when he did it wasn’t always to her.

He'd spoken to the Starfalls, though. Made polite small talk about podracing. Acknowledged his crazy hermit reputation almost as if it were a role he were playing. Joked about eopie farts. Not quite as civilized as the man she used to know, but a glimpse of someone familiar.

Until the children played Darth Vader.

_"It's a game we've encouraged them to play,"_ Sim had explained, amid his wife's apologies. _"To undercut the fear of the man beneath the mask."_

_"That's no man,"_ Obi-Wan replied, tone laser sharp, ending the visit as decisively as if he'd severed a limb with his saber.

What did he know of the malevolence that cloaked itself in the name _Vader_?

All these weeks she'd been with him, and not once had she asked what had brought him to Tatooine, two years' worth of hatch marks ago. Obviously he was in hiding--she knew what had _happened_ to the Jedi. But what had he _been_ through?

_Ben._

Her eyes welled up again. She blinked back the tears. Tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it was too dry. She reached for her canteen and uncapped it. Before she brought it to her cracked lips, she saw a freckled hand press a glass of cool water into hers. She reached around Obi-Wan, offering it it to him. He'd given her life back to her with a sip. She'd never be able to repay him, but it was a place to start.

"Go away!" he said, suddenly, voice breaking on the words.

Sabé stiffened, brought the canteen back to her chest as she leaned away to stare at the back of Obi-Wan’s hood. Her mouth dropped open to respond--of course she had no place in his life, he was a Jedi, they were supposed to shun distraction--but before she could speak, his hand covered hers on his stomach and he twisted in the saddle to try to see her. The anguish of his profile in full sun was etched plainly.

“Not you, Sabé,” he said. “Not you.”

Blinking as though embarrassed, he faced forward again. Gave her hand a long squeeze and let it go to take the reins again.

She continued to look at his cloak, finally sipping from her canteen and offering it to him once more. He reached over his shoulder, took several long draughts, and gave it back, not turning toward her this time.

Sabé nestled her cheek against his back again and watched the pale hills roll past in slow motion, up and down, up and down.

“Very well,” she thought she heard him murmur. “Not you, either.”

_Who are you talking to?_ she opened her mouth to ask. What came out was, "He never asked me any questions."

Rise and fall. Nagpal's back beneath her. Obi-Wan's breath against her. Indignation within her that apparently he only responded to his imaginary friend and not to her.

And then he did. "Vader."

She tightened her arms around his waist. His hand found hers again.

"He didn't need to ask me any questions," Sabé said. "It was as if he opened my head and reached inside and looked at my thoughts. They...were all of Padmé."

Beneath their joined hands, his stomach puffed outward with his sharp inhalation. He let out a ragged breath. A drop of moisture struck her hand. A tear? Or sweat? But of course he would weep for Padmé. She was his friend, too. She'd risked her life to save his, once. Anyone who'd known either one of them would never believe the Emperor's preposterous lie that Obi-Wan Kenobi had murdered her.

"I still don't know if he saw what he wanted. If everything that's happened is because...I wasn't strong enough to stop him."

She was sobbing again. She hadn't realized it at first, because she'd wept in Vader's presence. _Stop your pathetic sniveling._

He didn’t say _Vader says_. She nearly burst out laughing, but she was too busy crying. Perhaps she was going mad, or had been for some time now. It was hard to tell anymore.

“He couldn’t read your thoughts,” said Obi-Wan. “And he couldn’t compel you to speak them.”

She wanted to believe that. There were so many things she wanted that she couldn’t have. Rubbing her runny nose on her sleeve, she tried to keep the petulence out of her voice. “How can you be sure?”

“Because I know him.” He removed his hand from hers, his silence a weight against her chest. “I’m the reason he exists.”

~*~

The bed was already sandy when they fell into it, fully clothed, after they reached Obi-Wan’s hut in the early afternoon. Too tired to eat, they promised themselves a snack before they prepared dinner later. For now, Sabé could barely keep her eyes open as she lay on her back looking over at Obi-Wan.

He gazed back, as he always did, somehow not seeming to want anything from her. No questions. No expectations or demands. She could breathe around him. She could _be_.

But she had a question for him. “Can you tell me, who was Vader?”

The lids dropped over his eyes, and she studied the golden tips of his lashes. They opened again, a slow blink. The pillowcase rustled beneath his head as he turned it to stare up at the ceiling. Hands folded together across his stomach beneath the sheet. A body lying in a tomb. _I should have ended it._

But he hadn't. His chest rose and fell. He breathed. Her eyes traced his profile, the shape of his nose, as he inhaled. The downward roll of his throat when he swallowed, back up again when he spoke.

"I can't tell you his name. But he was once a Jedi. Like me."

Sabé waited for him to say more, but he didn't. Didn't need to. His face told her everything she needed to know of what it had cost him to say that much. Of pain and loss and betrayal.

Beneath the covers, she rolled onto her side. Snaked her arm out from under the sheet and brought her hand to his face. Raked her fingertips gently through his beard.

He held his breath, but was powerless to stop the tear that rolled from the corner of his eye onto the pillow.

“Not like you,” she said.

The sheets whispered back to her as Obi-Wan turned onto his side, facing her. Instead of the softness of his beard against her fingers she felt warm skin, the rapid pulse in his neck. Her own quickened to match it at the touch of his elbow at her hip, forearm along her ribs, hand on her shoulder.

He gazed at her as though making sure this touch was acceptable. She smiled, or tried to, and he closed his eyes, though his breathing remained erratic for some time. Just as hers did, even though she closed her eyes, too.

_Tossed by a tempest_ , she recalled from one of her schoolbooks. An adventure. Her thoughts felt that way now, and at any moment she’d realize she’d been shipwrecked from the moment she landed on this forsaken planet.

She clung to him, her fellow castaway.

~*~

Grit, rough against her cheek, roused Sabe's senses, restored them to consciousness after they'd been half-drowned. Sand, she thought, grimacing. Coarse beneath her hand, her heel, her clothes. She didn't move, however, except to wriggle her toes. It wasn't intolerable, for it wasn't dry, or hot, but stuck to sweat-dampened skin. Cooled by the breeze off the water which puffed steadily against her forehead, ruffling her hair.

Eyes closed, she pictured herself prone on the shore, something washed up by the tide, just another bit of flotsam or jetsam tangled up in seaweed. It wrapped around her ankles, draped over her shoulder, seemed even to be tangled in her hair.

The seaweed caressed her neck, gently tugged her damp hair away from her skin, and the ocean breeze over her forehead soothed her. She breathed deeply, in time with it, inhaled the tang of salt and earthy sand. She could stay this way until night fell.

Her knee seemed to be trapped between more debris, her hand rested on something warm and sandy that rose and fell with her own breathing. Another sea creature, tossed ashore like her. Perhaps they’d evolve together into something new--two gilled swimmers developing lungs and breathing air for the first time.

Her fingers traced over the warmth. Skin. Smooth beneath the gritty sand, but now goosebumps prickled up beneath where she touched. The vulnerable flesh just above a hipbone, moving under her hand as the castaway breathed quietly.

Two knees, not her own, cradled hers. The sensation at her neck was a hand, and in sleep the fingers still caressed.

Sabé’s eyes fluttered open. In the dim light, an awareness that her nose was buried in Obi-Wan’s chest, his red-gold hair tickling her where his tunic had loosened during their nap. His collarbone curving toward the pulse that throbbed at the hollow of his throat. The bare skin of his hip, so warm and smooth under her hand.

A wave of desire crashed over her and settled down deep, where it roared steadily.

Obi-Wan inhaled, deeply, and she knew he was awake now. It was too late to extricate herself, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to, anyhow. His breathing changed almost at once, though he didn’t move his body, either, or stop tracing his fingers over her neck.

The air was suddenly full of a new silence.

She dared not speak into it, lest she disrupt it, whatever it--this--was. Instead she breathed it in, wide-eyed, as she stared into his chest.

For the better part of two years she'd been engulfed by silence. The silence of isolation. Secrecy. The weight of all that had caused it. And yet it had been so loud that she could scarcely form it into coherent thoughts, let alone words.

This silence wasn't like that at all. It was light. Weightless. Bright.

She could hear his heartbeat. Words tingled on the tip of her tongue, tugged at her lips to form them. _I love you._

They so surprised her that she couldn't speak. And thank the stars, because to do so would have been utter madness. Continuing to lie here with him like this probably was, too, but he didn't move, so neither did she.

Eventually they would have to. As she came more fully awake, she felt the twinge of hunger in her belly, sharper than the throb of desire. They'd skipped their noon meal, slept through the snack they'd promised, and now dusk was falling. Most evenings they ate dinner earlier than this and slept shortly after sunset. She didn't know if she'd be able to sleep again so soon, even though she was relaxed and content to stay in bed.

_Was_ it dusk? Instead of the shrinking light casting his shirt, the sheets, into the grey of shadow, the exposed part of his shoulder looked brighter, freckles standing out amidst pale skin.

At last, Sabé raised her head, his beard brushing against her forehead as she did so. She intended to look at the windows across the room, but her gaze sought the blue of his eyes instead.

The pink of his lips, parted. So close to her that she could see the cracks where they were chapped. Her own lips tingled again, to say _I love you_ , or to communicate it wordlessly by pressing against his. What addled corner of her mind was this coming from?  

"It's dawn," Obi-Wan said, and somehow his voice didn't break the spell of the silence, but slid over herthem, a gentle wave on the shore. Like his fingers on her neck, behind her ear.

She propped up on an elbow to look down at him, but she couldn’t seem to remove her hand from his hip. “We slept through the night.” Her voice sounded reverent, even to her own ears.

His gaze had drifted to her lips when she spoke, but returned to her eyes as he nodded.

As one, they slowly disentangled themselves from each other. She wanted his fingers to remain on her neck and missed their gentle warmth at once. Sitting up with him, they both dangled their feet off the bed and stared down at their toes while they gripped the mattress as though that would somehow help them to move. Hungry as she was, Sabé didn’t _want_ to leave the bed. And Obi-Wan’s stillness beside her seemed to suggest he didn’t want to, either.

The silence pulsated between them.

She couldn’t look at him, but she wanted to. She settled for memorizing the fine golden hairs on his fingers, the ropy muscles of his forearm beneath his pushed-up sleeve, the bit of rounded calf visible just beneath the disarray of his rumpled trousers.

When he finally stood up to shuffle toward the kitchen, his long hair sticking up every which way like a mane, all she could think was, _This isn’t how people fall in love. Is it?_

He went to the sink to fill the kettle, his back to her, so Sabé slipped past him and took advantage of the available 'fresher. Tending to necessities and a hard look in the mirror brought her firmly back to reality. Although she looked better rested and healthier than when he'd first found her a month ago, that was about all that could be said favorably about her appearance. Or her smell. She needed a shower and a change of clothes, but that might as well wait until after morning chores. For now, she settled for washing the dirt off her face and running a comb through her hair, though that did little to improve the blushing reflection that stared back at her.

Rose-tinged cheeks aside, there was nothing here that anyone would desire. Whatever feelings had awakened in her must be one-sided. Or misinterpreted entirely. It had been so long since she'd felt anything at all. She reminded herself of that as she breathed and watched until the flush subsided.

As she came out of the 'fresher, Obi-Wan turned around and held out an earthenware mug. It was impossible to avoid the brush of their fingers as she curled hers around it to take it from him. He didn't let go of the mug at once; his eyes held hers, and she held her breath, heart fluttering in the cavern of her chest. If he couldn’t sense her feelings in the Force, he must see the redness in her face, for her cheeks had warmed again at the touch of his hand.

_Silly girl_. If he could sense, all those weeks ago, when she was about to faint, surely he could detect this rush of longing.

Sabé turned away and went back to the living room. After a pause--was he watching her?--she was gratified to hear the ‘fresher door open and shut. Alone with her thoughts, she breathed a heavy sigh and sank onto the single chair next to the bed.

The bedclothes made mountains and valleys of fabric, and for a moment she was lost in them, taken back to the skirmish in the Xelric Draw. They’d made quite a team, she had to admit. How easily he’d flicked each of those attackers aside. His prowess had sent a thrill through her, which she’d attributed to the heat of battle. _Careful when your blood is up_ , the Handmaidens were told. But that had never troubled her before. She had no reason to believe it should trouble her now.

And Obi-Wan was a Jedi, for stars’ sake. Their rumored celibacy was as famous as it was mocked. Didn’t they have ways of banishing carnal thoughts?

Perhaps she could ask him to teach her.

Suppressing a groan at her own ridiculousness, she sipped her tea.

He’d added just the amount of honey she liked.

When the ‘fresher door opened, she closed her eyes, inhaling the aromatic warmth from the cup under her nose and trying to look as though her entire reality hadn’t just been upended. It helped that she heard Obi-Wan mutter, " _Not_ ready to discuss it." There was the matter of his uncertain sanity to consider. Her own, too, if she was being quite honest.

Perhaps he'd always been this way. She'd hardly known him before, never mind now. When she’d first met him and his old Master years ago, she’d thought him friendly enough. Later, when their paths occasionally crossed on Coruscant, she’d sensed a wariness of Padmé and the Handmaidens, which might have been put down to a general mistrust of politicians; but it might’ve been more than that. She'd hardly be the first person to think a Jedi strange.

The sounds and scents of him reheating the leftover hawk filled the space, and soon she heard the clink of two plates on the small dining table, the scrape of the trunk as he pulled it out out, the rustle of him settling onto it.

Steeling herself with a brisk inhalation, she heaved herself out of the chair and joined him.

He’d waited for her, and they raised their forks together, eyes meeting furtively before they tucked in. The rest of the sandhawk, pallie slices, and a bit of stale flatbread would get them through their morning. Sabé deliberately slowed her eating so she wouldn’t have to speak, and it seemed that Obi-Wan had adopted the same strategy. She felt his eyes on her, though, and her own face burning. When she finally glanced at him, his cheeks were pink, as well.

How could they have let this happen? It was utterly irresponsible.

On the other hand, would it be _so_ wrong for them to find a little comfort in the arms of another who had suffered?

At last, Obi-Wan set his mug down. Empty, she saw, as was his plate. "I need to go out and check the vaporator," he said, pushing back from the table.

Sabé stuffed the last of her bread into her mouth and followed suit. "Nagpal must be wondering why his breakfast's so late."

It had seemed an innocuous enough remark in her head, but out loud she heard the reference to their sleeping in, and her traitor thoughts turned once again to waking tangled in bed with him. The deeper red of his cheeks as he bent to clear the table indicated his had, too.

"I'll wash up," she blurted out. "You made breakfast."

Wordlessly, Obi-Wan nodded and retreated to the hall. She heard him shove his feet into his boots and pull on his cloak. Only when the door shut behind him did Sabé finally move, gathering the dishes and automatically placing them into the sonic dishwasher, then returning to wipe down the table.

After hanging the rag on its kitchen hook, she peered out the back window into the yard where Nagpal’s pen sprawled. Obi-Wan was there, petting his muzzle and talking to him. A smile bloomed on Sabé’s face in spite of herself. Two weeks ago, he hadn't even given the eopie a name. This was a step forward for him, surely? She'd helped him, even if only in the smallest of ways.

But the bed had to be made, so she forced herself to leave the window to go and tug up the covers and fluff the pillows. Her heart pounded once more as she ran her hands over the depression where they’d slept, wrapped around each other as though there were nothing more natural.

What would happen this afternoon, at their customary rest time? Tonight?

The door opened and shut abruptly and she gasped, standing upright to see Obi-Wan step out of his boots and shrug off his cloak. When he’d hung it up, he stood with his hand on the hook, head bowed, for a few moments. Then he turned to face her.

Too late, she realized how she must look, frozen in her tracks, and thought about going to push the trunk back to its place against the wall. But Obi-Wan was coming toward her now.

She drew herself up.

“I have to go away for a few days.”

Whatever she’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. Sabé blinked. “What?”

“There’s...something I need to do. Alone. We’re stocked with food. Will you be all right on your own?”

Her mouth dropped open, but she made herself respond, hating how sharp her voice sounded. “Yes, of course.” She wasn’t sure how she’d feel, alone here with no one to talk to, but somehow her fears about a return to isolation seemed less urgent than why he needed to escape at this precise moment.

Obi-Wan shifted his weight, his blue gaze heavy on her as he seemed to waver. “It’s not--” He ran a hand through his hair. Licked his lips. Blew out a breath. “I usually make this trip once a month.” He stared at her for another moment as though considering. “There’s a reason I live on Tatooine.”

Sabé swallowed her retort, _I should hope so_ , for Obi-Wan’s discomfort was palpable. Perhaps he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t. For her protection, or his own?

Or someone else’s? With the Jedi Order decimated, maybe he’d allowed himself to break his oath of chastity, or whatever they called it. There was a real possibility he was already involved with someone. The thudding of her heart became painful. She mustered a smile.

“I’ll manage,” she said, flippant over the pounding of her heart. “Do what you need to do.”

“Thank you.”

Something in his tone brought her out of herself and made her look, really _look_ at him. His arms hung loose at his sides as though he had nothing to hide, aside from what he couldn’t tell her about this mysterious trip. His eyes danced over her face--searching, it seemed. She tried to open her own gaze to his, to let him know that she trusted him, until the moment that she shouldn’t. She trusted.

“We...ought to...spend some time thinking,” he suggested, the red coloring his cheeks even as he spoke.

Flaming again, her own face must’ve matched Obi-Wan’s. What a pair they were, no better than two blushing schoolchildren talking all around the subject. She had to prevent her arms from crossing over her body, for what good would it do? One couldn’t defend against the assault of one’s own feelings. She realized she’d lowered her gaze to the hip she’d caressed just an hour ago and dragged her attention back to his face.

Her gaze seemed to shock him and he blinked. “I’ll go pack,” he muttered, and whirled to head toward the cellar.


	9. Chapter 9

Water rushed upward as the crippled shuttle careered through the atmosphere toward the planet's surface.

"We need to abandon ship!" Obi-Wan called out, searching for Qui-Gon. But his Master was nowhere to be seen.

Only his disembodied voice, which seemed to come from deep within himself. _You must save the Queen, my young Apprentice._

Yes. The Queen. But the woman wearing the headdress and royal robes was not the Queen. "This is the Handmaiden Sabé," Obi-Wan tried to tell anyone who would listen, but they would not. "Padmé is the Queen."

"And you killed her," said the slave boy. Not Anakin.

Spindly arms thrust out, and the Force struck Obi-Wan in the chest, sending him flying through the bay doors. He flailed his hand wildly, caught Sabé's. He couldn't save the Queen, but he could save her decoy.

Down, down they fell, until they plunged into the sea. The impact ripped their hands apart. When Obi-Wan opened his mouth to cry her name, water filled it, forced him below the surface. He opened his eyes, scanning the churning waters for the red of her gown amid the wreckage of the shuttle, but it was too dark, too murky. He couldn't see anything through the debris and particles. Sand? _Ash._ The ashes of his Master, scattered into the Solleu River in Theed. But that happened after. This was before…Wasn't it?

His lungs burned. Soon he'd have to go up for air. But how could he live and leave her to die? He swam down deeper, till his feet found the ocean bed. If he didn't find her, he could lie down among the rest of the dead, lulled to eternal sleep by the shifting sands beneath the current. They wouldn't even have to burn his body and throw his remains into the river, for he would already be here. There--the molten lava flowed toward him, flaming red billowing like the train of a Queen's royal robes.

_Sabé_.

Obi-Wan kicked off the sea floor and swam to her, caught her burning body in his arms. Above the surface shone the discs of two suns. A trick of the water, perhaps? A reflection of the twin spots on Sabé's cheeks? The red paint coursed down her face like tears of blood.

He tried to swim toward the lights, but Sabé was heavy, the Queen's sodden clothing weighing her down. He writhed to shed his own cloak like a snake slipping from its old skin, then grasped Sabé's by the neckline, rending it in two to allow her to slide nearly nude from its folds.

Free of restraint, they swam up, or were carried by the waves, toward the lights and land. Obi-Wan gasped for breath as he and Sabé washed ashore, but she lay still and silent on the sand. He looked down at her from above, her short dark hair fanning out to form a crown around her head in place of the elaborate headpiece that had been lost at sea. Her pale skin would burn in minutes beneath the punishing light of the twin suns. It already was burning, he found when his fingertips brushed her fevered brow. He had to revive her.

The makeup had washed off her cheeks, except for the Scar of Remembrance, which bled onto her chin. Not red, but deep purple, like the juice of some fruit. Hunger gripped him. Perhaps a taste...a kiss to wake the sleeping princess...

She came to life beneath him, mouth warm and kissing him back. _Jogan fruit._ She tasted like jogan fruit.

_Where’s your braid?_ she asked, close to his ear. A kiss just beneath it--she must taste the sunlight on the back of his neck, the salt of his skin.

With her kiss, something came free, and he floated as if they were still in the water, though they remained firmly on the ground.

When she sat back, she had his braid between her teeth.

But he wanted his tongue there. He stretched his fingers toward the plait, still bound on one end but unraveling already on the other, and slipped it from her mouth. He trailed it down her body, over a breast, and tucked it for safekeeping into the top edge of her underwear before he claimed her mouth again.

Obi-Wan woke, expecting to feel the soft skin beneath Sabé’s underwear, the tickle of the braid against the backs of his fingers, their tongues entwined like serpents...but he was alone again, sheltered in his tent as the wind whipped against the canvas and slithered inside to chill him, for he’d shed his cloak in his sleep.

Without thinking, he undid his trousers. He worked quickly, trying not to think of Sabé, of the possibility and hope that dream had ignited. When it was finished and he’d cleaned up, he rose, still shaken.

He felt like an adolescent again, frustrated by his hormones and confused by the path he must walk as a Jedi. His hand reached automatically for the braid Sabé had bitten off in his dream, but of course he’d lost that fifteen years ago. Could still recall the acrid stench of singed hair when Yoda cut it off with his saber, the brief ache in the Force as his final bond with his Master was severed, then nothing as the laser cauterized the wound.

Here was a new one, livid and fresh, which needed tending. Would it heal on its own, or fester until it killed him? Or would it spread, like a disease, overtaking healthy tissue and repurposing as its own?

What would he become?

He’d already assumed his meditation pose when the next question wriggled into his consciousness:

What had he _already_ become?

Closing his eyes, he reached ( _dove_ ) into the Force, went deeper ( _her dress billowing in the water like ashes on the wind_ ), found the center ( _the suns warming his naked back_ ).

“Stop it,” he said aloud.

Deeper, in the right direction, ignoring the glittering surface above him...deeper, toward the rubble of civilizations lost, and he merely one of the nameless and faceless dead...deeper, where there was no need for answers, nor questions…

What did he _want_ to become?

"You were a human before you were a Jedi," Qui-Gon's voice rumbled in the closeness of the tent.

"Yes, well. I'm a Jedi now," Obi-Wan replied. He cracked his eyes, the ethereal form of his master pale in the predawn darkness, mirroring his position. In life, Qui-Gon would have had to stoop in the low tent. "Or are you saying I'm not?"

"What does Jedi mean, now?"

_Jedi means me. Alone._ "I'm lonely. That's all this is. I mastered this, when I had the Order. A purpose. The rules haven't changed."

"Some of us never believed them to be rules in the first place."

"Principles." Obi-Wan found his crumpled sleeveless cloak, drew it around himself. "Sexual gratification is self-indulgence."

"Perhaps that may be said of what you just did."

Obi-Wan regretted donning his cloak as his skin flamed from head to toe. “ _Do you mind?_ ”

Qui-Gon chuckled. "You sound so like the boy I remember, irritated by his mortal flesh."

His voice echoed after his body dissipated, leaving only the wan morning light that slivered through the tent opening.

"Crude matter," Obi-Wan gritted out through his teeth. Certainly that act had been. Hopefully, it at least served to get this out of his system.

In a most appallingly literal sense.

He threw back the tent flap and searched the eastern horizon for the first colors of dawn. By day's end, he would be with Luke. The reason he was here.

What reason the Force had for Sabé to be here, he couldn't say. A test, perhaps.

He would not fail it. Or Luke.

~*~

The first tug Obi-Wan felt on the back of his cloak, he pretended to ignore and went on loosening the buckles of the saddlebags.

When he felt a second tug, he said aloud, “Hmm. There must be a womp rat nipping at my heels.”

A giggle followed, but still he didn't look back.

On the third tug, his hands stilled, and he turned his head to glance over his shoulder.

A towheaded toddler peered up at him, eyes and mouth open wide in a grin that revealed the bright ridges of two new teeth since the last time Obi-Wan had seen the boy a month ago.

"Hello there," he said, grinning back as he dropped into a crouch.

But Luke kept looking upward. "Ee-pee!" He pointed to the beast over Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"E- _o_ -pie," Obi-Wan corrected, gently.

"O-pee!"

"An admirable effort." Scooping Luke up, he pushed to his feet, knees cracking. "My eopie has a proper name now. _Nagpal._ "

"Pow!" Luke repeated, flailing in Obi-Wan's arms to pat the eopie's snout.

"Nag-pal," Obi-Wan enunciated slower this time, shifting Luke to one arm so he could reach into his pocket for a handful of Anoat oats, which Luke grasped in pudgy fingers to feed the weary animal. This was their greeting ritual. Did a part of Luke remember his journey across the dunes, tucked into the folds of Obi-Wan's cloak, lulled to sleep by the eopie's gently lumbering gait?

"It's a Naboo name," he explained, not sure if Luke actually heard him over his laughter as Nagpal's snout tickled his hand, spilling most of the oats on the ground. "My friend gave it to him."

_Clearly, Sabé is far more than a friend to you,_ said a voice in the back of his mind _._

"It's the only term I can use for her right now," he muttered, face burning as he fought to banish thoughts of that morning in his tent. "The only term I can allow." To Luke, he added, "It means _savior of snakes._ "

Luke's head whipped toward him. "Nake?" He pointed at the saddlebags.

"No, there are no snakes in my bag," Obi-Wan replied, chuckling.

He looked around for Luke’s aunt and uncle. Beru stood in the aboveground doorway, shading her eyes. Owen must have been off with the vaporators.

Leaving the saddlebags, he trudged across the sand, Luke pulling on his beard and saying, “Pow! Pow!”

“Hello, Beru,” said Obi-Wan. Luke lunged toward her, and Obi-Wan nearly toppled.

She deftly caught the toddler and tucked him onto her hip. “Ben,” she smiled. “Make good time?”

He nodded.

“Nake!” cried Luke, pointing back to the eopie.

Beru’s eyes widened until Obi-Wan assured her Luke had not, in fact, seen any snakes.

“Pow!”

She placed a couple of fingers over Luke’s lips, which he took as an invitation to put them in his mouth. “Care to use the ‘fresher and unpack?”

“Thank you, that would be most welcome,” replied Obi-Wan. “I’ll just rub down Nagpal and collect my things.”

The woman’s eyebrow rose. “Nagpal?”

“He--my eopie--” Obi-Wan’s heart thudded. “He’s got a name now.”

“Na-pah!” shouted Luke.

“Very good,” said Obi-Wan with a grin.

After he’d brushed the animal and left him tethered near a trough of water and scrubby vegetation, he shouldered his bags and descended to the main living quarters. Beru and Luke had disappeared into the kitchen, so he showed himself across the belowground courtyard, cool and fresh with greenery, to the guest quarters in the garage. He dumped his supplies at the foot of the bed, quickly cleaned up, and changed clothes.

Owen was still nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t unusual.

In the kitchen, Beru was cooking, which also wasn’t unusual. She seemed to live in the sunny, narrow galley; savory stews always simmered in pots on the cooktop, loaves of bread rose within the oven, and cookies waited inside jars placed out of Luke’s reach.

Obi-Wan took two and handed one to Luke, holding the other in his hand as though he were going to eat it, until Luke reached for it, too.

“Can I help with anything?” he offered.

Beru shot him an amused look. “Are you cooking now?”

His cheeks warmed. “Unless it’s too late for me to learn.”

“Nonsense,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Come, I’ll show you what we’re having. You can stir and add the spices.”

The afternoon stretched into early evening as he and Beru chatted, Luke winding in and out of their legs and chasing insects out the open door. Obi-Wan made a mental note of the spices she’d used; perhaps he could replicate this dish someday for Sabé. Another flush heated his cheeks, until he tamped down thoughts of her.

But they rose again as a spike of worry stabbed at him. Shouldn’t he have some way of letting Sabé know he’d arrived safely, even if she couldn’t know where he was? What idiot carried no comlink across the wastes of Tatooine and left a woman alone?

His insides twisted. She'd insisted he pack his lightsaber for protection, and still he'd left her.  

“Are you okay, Ben?” Beru watched him, her forehead wrinkling with concern.

Was he that transparent? “Fine,” he said briskly. “Just thinking of a run-in I had with a junkshop dealer.”

“They’re such sharks, aren’t they?”

Obi-Wan could do no more than nod before Owen appeared in the doorway, toeing off his boots in the breezeway. "Who are sharks?"

"Junkshop dealers," Beru said, and he stepped down into the kitchen with a grunt. He avoided Obi-Wan's eyes. Was he thinking of the same junkshop dealer, who'd sold Cliegg Lars the slave woman who'd become Owen's stepmother?

If he did, he tucked the memory away as he pecked his wife's cheek, put his hands under the faucet to wash them. Only after he'd scrubbed and dried his hands did Owen acknowledge their guest.

"Ben," he said, stepping around Beru to shake his hand. "What's the news from the wild west?"

Here was a man who was master of his emotions. Not that Owen wasn't kind; he tousled Luke's hair and took him on his knee when they sat down for the evening meal, alternating eating his own stew and spooning bites into the child's mouth. Although Owen and his wife engaged him in conversation, Obi-Wan felt strangely detached from it all, the edited accounts of his most recent trip to Mos Espa and the run-in with Tuskens turning his thoughts back to the woman who would be sitting down to a solitary meal in his hovel. Or would she bother? So often he hadn't.

He felt Beru watching him, and when he met her eyes to take a roll from the plate she offered, her gentle smile seemed to say, _There's that look again._ He sensed her wish to draw him in, to encourage his participation--sporadic as it might be--in this little family.

Stronger, though, was Owen’s anger over the loss of his stepmother, and the stepbrother he’d barely met, lost like anyone else who fought for the Republic. Stronger still was the pushing away, nearly palpable in its intensity. Obi-Wan was grateful the couple allowed him to see Luke every month, but he knew his place. It was bad enough he wasn’t dead, like the other Jedi.

A twinge of grief stung him, and he exhaled until it had gone. Mostly.

After the meal, they took Luke up to run around in the cool of sunset. He wanted to see Nagpal, and Obi-Wan found himself forced to explain about the name yet again when Owen looked at him in bemusement while balancing Luke on the eopie's back.

"My friend took it amiss that I called him _the eopie._ "

That inadequate word again--and it didn't appear to have clarified anything for Owen, whose brow furrowed deeper. "Thought hermits weren't supposed to have friends."

Yet another failure added to the list. Obi-Wan rubbed Nagpal's snout, picturing Sabé's capable yet gentle hands doing the same. How she'd occasionally bend and kiss the animal.

"The Force has other plans for me, it would seem." If he hadn't ruined them, leaving her the way he had. "She's been staying with me for the past month."

Out the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw the Larses exchange looks.

"Explains the cooking," Beru said.

“Nagpal, then.” Owen gave a huff he chose to take for a chuckle, but thankfully passed no further comment. "You give it a name, you get attached."

Obi-Wan nodded his agreement, and that was all of the conversation.

But later as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and unable to fall asleep despite the exhaustion of two days' ride across the desert, he knew it was not only Nagpal to whom he'd grown attached.

This morning's efforts to suppress his longing hadn't been enough to stop him from wanting Sabé beside him. From imagining he heard the soft steady puffs of her breath, felt the sheet rise and fall, her body warming his even though they lay without touching...He rolled onto his side and relived how he'd woken three mornings ago with her hair woven through his fingers, her knee tucked between his, the back and forth of her thumb over his hip, lulling him toward sleep as effectively as any Force compulsion--and awakening him as though the Force had never existed.

Heaving a sigh, he flopped onto his back and raked his fingers through his hair, tugging hard from the scalp. He never should've allowed sharing a bed to become a habit. No matter how much improved his sleep was, and Sabé's seemed also to be.

It didn't help matters any knowing that his hosts shared a room elsewhere in this house. And across the Dune Sea, Sim and Mari Starfall. Was that why this was such a struggle for him? All his acquaintances were husbands and wives. Meanwhile, his own living arrangement had become a parody of a marriage.

"Why not?" said Qui-Gon. "It is a natural human arrangement."

Obi-Wan screwed his eyes shut, pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's getting rather ahead of things, isn't it?"

"So you admit that there is hope?"

Obi-Wan's chest tightened, fingers curled tight around a precious object. He released his breath, but it didn't loosen. “I never hoped for this. Never desired it."

"Then perhaps it simply _is._ "

"Is what?" Obi-Wan asked, but there was no answer. He opened his eyes, and saw he was alone in the dark.

For a moment, he considered summoning his Master back--if he'd really been there at all--but it didn't bode well for future visits with Luke if Beru or Owen happened to be up and overheard their guest talking to no one.

He turned Qui-Gon's words over in his mind. _A natural human arrangement._ That was the problem. What could be less natural than the pairing of an exiled Jedi and an escaped political prisoner?

Sabé was virtually imprisoned again now, alone in Obi-Wan's hovel with no means of transport or communication. All because he'd wanted time and space to think.

"How's that for self-indulgence?" he said aloud.

At some point he must have slept, because he dreamed, although on waking he couldn't remember what the dreams had been, except that Sabé swam through them, elusive in the murky depths.

He rose before the suns, donned his cloak, and stole from the house, trudging toward the western edge of the Larses' farmland and the darkness.

And cast out into it.

The Force caught him at once in its current, sweeping him out into a sea teeming with life forms--even here, in the desert. At night they were easier to sense, scurrying across sands they would burrow beneath by day. Obi-Wan allowed his presence to touch theirs, that he might determine which were innocuous and which might cause injury. Although none were sentient, and therefore had no intentions for either good or evil, he nudged a few scorpions and snakes off the property, while he urged small creatures that might bring nourishment near the dwelling.

Drifting further out, beyond the vaporators, he sensed a band of Jawas traveling this way and turned the wind, that they might alter their path. It carried the cry of a krayt dragon from its cave to a Tusken camp; they, too, would keep well away from the homestead.

So it went on, Obi-Wan plunging deeper into the Force, until the life forms were too few and too far beyond his reach. Still, something pulled at him. A hand reaching out for his between shafts of light.

_Light._

The suns were rising, their warmth at his back and sparkling off the precious beads of dew that clung to the vaporators and scrubby vegetation, but they weren't the light he sensed.

He turned his head, and the golden-haired child toddled around to peer at him with eyes as deep blue as the ocean. Anakin's eyes, but unshadowed by suffering. Obi-Wan's burned with tears.

He smiled through them. "Good morning, Luke," he rasped, throat dry. "I was just meditating." Luke stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking. So he added, "Someday, I'll teach you. If you like."

Luke sidled around until he stood just in front of Obi-Wan's crossed legs, back to him, then plopped down in his lap. For a moment, he sat in stunned silence, then laughter rippled out, loosening the knot in his chest.

"So eager to learn, young one? All right then."  

~*~

Most days on Tatooine, one roasted under the suns, the heat seeping through shirt and cloak as though they didn’t exist. Obi-Wan would return home after a long journey, his shoulders as red as though they’d been exposed directly to the suns’ punishing rays, eyes bloodshot and dry, sand everywhere.

Today was worse.

Obi-Wan tipped back his second canteen to capture the last trickle of water, cursing his distraction as the droplets evaporated on his tongue before they reached his parched throat. He could’ve rationed more efficiently, if not comfortably. Nagpal panted, and Obi-Wan patted his sweaty neck. He’d need to stop soon to allow the poor beast a rest.

Normally at the end of the first day’s ride from the Lars homestead, he’d stop at Motesta settlement to refill his water supply. Today he steered Nagpal toward the oasis.

A loose term, he’d often reflected, for it was little more than a man-made watering hole. But it was clean, and provided additional livelihood for the nearby farmers and their families. One could pay for a luxuriant swim, or a meal, even a private hut if another night on the hard sand was too much to contemplate. His fingers went to the sack of coins at his belt.

Nagpal trotted a bit faster as if in agreement with his rider’s silent decision to stay the night. He never had before. It had seemed an indulgence. Perhaps it was, but it was a necessary one, due to his careless journey. He hadn't let Nagpal fully recover from the previous two days' trek to see Luke, and to travel on in his current state of distraction would place more people than just himself in danger.

The haze over the water never ceased to make Obi-Wan wonder if this place weren’t a mirage after all.

"It's as genuine as I am, I assure you," Qui-Gon said, his ethereal form hovering near as Obi-Wan dismounted.

He _almost_ looked alive. Real.

“So I'm not real to you?” Qui-Gon asked without rancor, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the beginning of a smile.

“If you would kindly quit eavesdropping--”

“Ah, but you summoned me, remember?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “So it seems. It'll have to wait.”

The oasis keeper had emerged from one of the huts to meet him. Teeth stood out white against a tanned face, smile giving no indication that he thought Obi-Wan a madman for talking to himself. Perhaps he was accustomed to the people who stopped here being a little touched by the suns.

"Welcome, friend," he said. "Will you be taking a hut, or just a bath?"

Obi-Wan pressed the druggats that would cover lodging into a dry, dusty hand. The man pocketed them, then gently nudged him aside to unbuckle the saddlebags himself.

"Rumi Brightmoon, at your service." He didn't wait for Obi-Wan to introduce himself; privacy was valued as highly on Tatooine as water. "Go, refresh yourself. I'll take these, and my wife Agata and I will prepare a room and refreshment. You've arrived in perfect time for the evening meal."

_Brightmoon_ was an old family name in these parts. As Obi-Wan led Nagpal to the water, past a paddock containing a bantha and her calf and a few other guests' mounts, he imagined generations of Brightmoons living here, guarding the oasis, welcoming weary travelers. The huts cast long shadows. At the water's edge, Obi-Wan stood and contemplated his own twin shadows crisscrossing the surface of the pool.

“I always loved discussing the nature of reality," Qui-Gon said as he reappeared, as though there had been no interruption in conversation. "Truth versus fact. Hope. Perception.”

“I haven't forgotten.” Obi-Wan stripped off his cloak and let it fall unceremoniously onto a patch of grass, a respectful distance from where a male Pacithhip was disrobing. The only other bather was an amphibious Quarren.

“No, you haven't,” said Qui-Gon as he folded himself to sit at the water’s edge and rested an ephemeral arm over one raised knee. “But now you face a _new_ hope. If I am real to you, then so must that hope. Just because something is intangible doesn't negate its validity.”

“You’re talking about faith.”

"No. _Truth_.”

Obi-Wan looked down into his Master’s face. They’d been talking all around this for the past four nights, and still Qui-Gon wouldn’t say what was on his mind. Obi-Wan turned away and yanked his sweaty shirt over his head, dropping it onto his cloak.

The Pacithhip had paused undressing, regarding him out the corner of his eye. "Barvy," he muttered, refastening his garment and trudging back up the hill.

“Nor will you,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “It’s you who needs to face it, not I.”

“I have other things that require my attention.”

He chose that unfortunate moment to drop his trousers and underwear, but it was too late to change course now that they were around his ankles. He awkwardly stepped out of his boots and then wriggled his feet out of the pant legs, kicking them aside with the rest of his garments. He waded at once into the warm water, trying to remind himself that it was Luke and no one else who warranted focus.

“Hmm, yes. I wonder why you only spent a day there this time,” observed Qui-Gon. “Usually you look in on the boy for several days. A week.”

“Luke is thriving,” Obi-Wan replied before submerging his head. When he emerged, feeling clearer, Qui-Gon was still there, a glimmering shape on the shore. The Quarren, however, had swum to the opposite side of the pool, where he watched Obi-Wan with much the same expression as the Pacithhip. “I sensed no danger. The Tuskens are keeping well away.”

“Do you sense danger at home?”

Obi-Wan's pulse raced in anticipation, and Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows.

“No,” said Obi-Wan. “But…”

“You worry.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. But why should he? Self-reliant and capable, Sabé could handle herself in a board room or on the battlefield.

But Tatooine was neither of those places. And he still didn’t know the extent of her suffering.

“I worry...that I am becoming attached.”

Without waiting for Qui-Gon’s reply, he dove beneath the water and swam the short distance to the opposite side, images of Sabé beside him, sleek as a water creature herself, reaching for him.

But the silence on the shore he’d left tugged at him. He emerged and shook his hair from his face, afraid of seeing his Master again, and of not seeing him. The Quarren's pale, nude backside emerged from the pool, water spattering as he shook out his facial tentacles.

“Do you _want_ to love her?” asked Qui-Gon, who hadn't moved from his place.

Although Obi-Wan hadn't submerged again, his chest ached as though he'd been under for too long and desperately needed to come up for air. The pain multiplied as his heart thudded, a prisoner hammering ceaselessly against a cell door. He’d taken his Jedi vows. Even if the Order was all but decimated, would he willingly forswear them?

But that wasn't what Qui-Gon had asked. Loving Sabé might not mean breaking any vows, if he never spoke of it. Did he want to love her?

Finally, he answered, “That’s irrelevant.”

“Yes, my young Apprentice, it’s irrelevant. Because the _truth_ is…”

Truth versus fact. Hope. What did he want to become?

“I already do.”

Qui-Gon did not reply to that, except to wear a small smile that might be described as smug.

Obi-Wan leaned back in the water, kicking up to float. He closed his eyes against the glare of the suns, letting the rays sear him. He didn't know how or when it had occurred, but that, too, was irrelevant. All that mattered was the truth.

He had fallen in love.

He loved her.

He let himself sink, opened his eyes under the water so he could see the yellow discs undulate above him. As their images shifted, so did something inside him. When he swam back up and broke the surface, blinked the water out of his eyes, and breathed, Qui-Gon had vanished.

_Typical._ Although, as his Master pointed out, Obi-Wan had summoned him. Perhaps he'd dismissed him, as well.

He swam for a little while longer, noting movement from within a few of the other small domed structures--travelers like himself who’d stopped for the night--then he saw Mr. Brightmoon waving to him from the entrance of one of the huts. The evening meal must be ready, and Obi-Wan's stomach grumbled. He hadn't stuck around for breakfast at the Larses'. His face flushed in shame at Beru's confusion--and at Owen's obvious relief--when he'd announced his abrupt departure. She'd sent him off with fresh bread and dewback jerky, and watched him leave with a wailing Luke in her arms.

When Obi-Wan finally waded back up the shore, Mr. Brightmoon approached with a lightweight robe.

"It's an unpleasant thing to put soiled clothes on a clean body," he said as Obi-Wan gratefully accepted it and slid it on. He gestured to the sweaty and sandy ones on the ground and offered to launder them.

Obi-Wan shook the sand out of his boots as best he could, beating them against a rock, then shoved his feet in, cringing at the remaining grit beneath his soles. But in the hut he found a basin for washing, and soon was fully clean again. Cleaner, in fact, than he'd felt since he came to Tatooine, for it was the first proper bath he'd had. Sonic showers did the job, yet there was something about bathing with water.

Guilt prickled where the wet ends of his hair curled into the base of his neck, that he was enjoying these luxuries without Sabé.

"You know what to do about that," Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan lacked the energy for another debate about whether he could or should entrust the secret of Luke to her, but he took his Master's point, acknowledged his regrets, and then released them into the Force so he could rest and restore himself, as was the purpose in stopping here.

The hut was a simple structure, skins stretched across what appeared to be the bones of a large animal--krayt ribs, perhaps--but more spacious than his tent. He could stand fully upright here, though at the moment he preferred to sit on the foot of the bed, which was within easy reach of the low table where his meal awaited him: bantha steak and three-eyed Kinyenian potatoes just like Dex used to serve, and fresh flatbread, lightly seasoned with herbs. Simple, hearty food to fortify travelers for another hard day to come.Yet it was served with a touch of homeyness and femininity; at the center of the table, a clay vase held a single funnel flower, its purple bud just beginning to open at the end of a curling stem.  

He didn't bother to dress, for the second set of clothing in his pack was no cleaner than the set he'd given Mr. Brightmoon, and the robe was soft and light against his skin. He left the door flap open so he could enjoy the breeze and the reflection of the deepening hues of sunset on the water while he ate.

He cut a bite of meat and chewed broadly, wiping his mouth on the cloth napkin his host had provided. What was Sabé eating?

“A feast, don’t you know?” Her dimples flashed at him as he imagined her across the table more vividly than Qui-Gon's ghost appeared to him. The oasis receded to mere background, and she appeared haloed by the light shining off her dark hair. “If you’re lucky, I’ll save you a bite.”

“You’re too kind,” he smiled through a mouthful. “What’s on the menu?”

“Snake and gourd with bristlemelon. Very fancy.”

Her eyes were like the rich, fresh-tilled earth of a garden bed warmed by sun. He wanted to bury himself in her gaze and lie dormant through the winter. Come spring, what would he sprout up as?

“I can’t wait,” he told her, suddenly emotional. A chill rippled down his spine as the breeze cooled in the fading light and his hair dripped into the robe.

Was he that lonesome? Had he mistaken the simple longing for human contact for love? How irresponsible of him. How selfish.

Of course he was lonely. Rather than acknowledge that feeling, and accept it, he'd avoided it. Which was not the Jedi way. So he supposed he'd allowed himself to become...something else. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and over his unshaven face. Something uncivilized.  

“And for dessert...” Sabé unfurled a tantalizing smile. “Guess.”

He sighed and forced his eyes away, though his mouth tasted the jogan fruit on her tongue.

He loved her.

And he wanted to.

Obi-Wan acknowledged the feeling, but this time, did not release it. As he'd enjoyed the creature comforts of the bath and the food, he now allowed himself to entertain the notion of being with her. He kept her with him through the remainder of the meal, and after he polished off the last morsel, he placed the empty tray outside the hut, closed the flap, and took her to bed.

Tired as he was, he was awake, and wouldn't be falling asleep any time soon with this admission fresh on his mind, and the lack of answers it had provided. He sought none as he imagined them lying together, not rigid on their backs so as to avoid touching, but turned toward each other, his fingers woven through her hair, her fingers stroking his hip, her knee caught between both of his his as they'd woken to find themselves three mornings ago.

In his chest, he felt his heartbeat pick up; Obi-Wan focused on his breathing--slow inhale, long exhale--to steady it. A meditative practice, though he didn't use it now to redirect his thoughts. Instead he lingered in them, let his mind carry the fantasy further. Her legs were bare, all of her was, flesh so warm and soft. Beneath his robe he grew hard, and he withdrew his hand from her hair, the strands gliding through his fingers, so he could loosen the knot of the belt.

The sound of his ragged breath filled his ears, heart juddering again behind his ribs. Slowly in, out long. He rolled onto his back and drew aside his robe, submitting himself to the desires of his body and heart and the command Sabé had over them.

When he slid his hand along his length, he closed his eyes imagined sinking into her lush heat.

He loved her, and he wanted to. Only in accepting the truth would he find release.

He found rest, too.

Hours later, when the air smelled like morning, he tugged the door flap tie. It fell aside, admitting the early dawn light into the tiny space. He inhaled deeply through his nose, allowing the bracing freshness to fill his lungs. There were only so many such opportunities each day on Tatooine. He exhaled through his mouth, a whisper of gratitude that he'd not missed this one. Or that sliver of pink as Tatoo I emerged over the distant dunes.

Was Sabé watching the same sunrise even now?

The thought that she might be made him feel less alone. Tugged at him from across the leagues of desert. After pulling some Anoat oats from the saddlebag, he emerged from the hut and staggered across the sands that had shifted in the night until he reached the pen where Nagpal was corralled with the other animals.

“Good morning, my fellow,” he murmured, rubbing the eopie's muzzle and scratching his neck.

He opened his hand flat and let Nagpal nibble the grain. Then he gave the leathery back a pat and returned to the tent to break his own fast. Without wondering why, he plucked the purple flower from the vase on the table.


	10. Chapter 10

On the fourth day, Sabé rose from bed and stripped off the sheets. They'd needed washing since she and Obi-Wan fell into it without bathing or changing, but she'd put it off, not wanting to remove the scent of him from the fabric.

Almost as soon as he'd disappeared over the rise on Nagpal to go...wherever he went...she'd crawled back into it, wrapped herself up in the bedding as if to feel his arms around her again. Her memory replayed the scene of waking entangled with him...and took it further, stoking her arousal with new images of lips touching and hips grinding together. She'd been helpless to refrain from tending her own need.

It hadn't helped. Afterward, she only felt more alone than ever, more bewildered by his abrupt departure, and had wept into the pillows. _The widow’s comfort_ , Dormé had jokingly called it, though Sabé always suspected she’d had lovers. Now Sabé was the widow of all, and no amount of temporary satisfaction would erase her losses.

Or bring Obi-Wan back in from the wasteland.

Still, she’d done it again, and again, over the long, empty days, each time hoping that would be the cure, that she’d stop imagining his lean, muscular body over hers, his mouth whispering tender words against her lips.

If he were truly as passionless as the Jedi were said to be, what good was indulging herself this way?

She shook out the top sheet, fairly certain it was only her own sweat and salt she smelled now.

Grains of sand showered from the pile of sheets as she gathered them up in her arms, skittering across the floor on her way to the cellar. She heaved out a sigh--but cleaning the floor would be another thing to do. To pass the time until Obi-Wan returned. If he'd truly been here at all. At times she wondered whether it hadn't all been a dream.

Since he’d left and the the full realization of her isolation gathered her up like a fisherman’s net, panic lurked just beneath the surface of every thought. She’d given herself several good talkings to, most of them out loud, and developed an appreciation for Obi-Wan’s need to do the same. He’d been alone for two years. Of course, for more than a year so had she, but she hadn’t had the luxury of speaking aloud, for fear of the recording devices hidden in the cells.

As she descended the cellar stairs she trailed her fingers along the tick marks she’d carved into the wall since his departure, adding each one at dusk, as he did. Once the wash was going, she retrieved the scopeless cycler rifle from the shelf, placed it on the workbench, and pulled out a couple of junk bins to see if there might be anything she could modify into an eyepiece. The best thing she found was a bit of broken magnifying glass, which would hardly do. Her first toy rifle had had a magnifying glass in its scope. Perfect for pretending to kill ants, but useless for distance. For shooting sandhawks out of the cloudless desert sky. Tuskens off cliffsides.

She replaced the bins and sighed with hands on hips. “Well, that took all of twenty minutes,” she observed out loud. “Only twelve more hours to go.”

The washing machine groaned and guttered to a stop.

"What perfect timing." She crossed over the rug to it. "Putting the sheets back on the bed should fill another five minutes."

Ten, if she went for a military standard. No simple feat on a semicircular bed. But this hovel belonged to a former General of the Grand Republic. There were standards to uphold, even if the Republic had fallen.

Had a similar musing passed his lips in the early days of his exile?

"There you go, thinking of his lips again." She shook her head at herself. "It would be all mustache, if you kissed him."

She refused to let herself imagine what that would feel like, though she suspected her next fantasy, should she find herself too weak to resist, would include this detail. For the moment, she tried to focus instead on the prickle of sand beneath her soles as she crossed back through the living room with the heap of clean sheets.

As she made up the bed, her stomach joined in her muttered conversation, growling like a krak'jya.

"I suppose you want me to feed you?" she asked it, stepping back to admire how she'd arranged the pillows along the curved wall of the alcove. "I intended to sweep the floor first, you know...But if you insist…"

It did. She went to the kitchen, where she stared at the stocked pantry shelves. The sack of flour on the lowest one mocked her. Yesterday's attempt to make flatbread had been less than successful. Oh, it had been flat, all right. Also considerably more black than anything made with bleached flour should be. She'd saved the leftovers, of course, but doubted even the desert animals would find burnt flatbread a fit meal.

Her gaze landed on a stack of flat tins in a corner of a shelf. The blue label depicted fish--roe, Obi-Wan had told her.

"Let's catch a snake." She snatched up one of the tins, tossing it into the air and catching it in her palm.

Her stomach growled.

"I'm going to take that as agreement rather than protest."

Dry heat hit her in force, like opening an oven door, when she opened the door and trotted down the short steps. Obi-Wan kept his minnow traps on the south side, away from Nagpal. She dumped the bright orange roe into two narrow cages, scraping out the sides of the container with a finger and popping the remaining salty eggs into her mouth, where they exploded like bubbles. Not exactly tasty, but she couldn’t waste a thing. She also knew better than to leave the tin outside. Jawas would take it as a sign to rummage for more scrap metal.

Back inside, she rinsed and dumped the tin into a bin for recycling. Once every couple of months, Obi-Wan had told her, he took the metal to Mos Espa and got a little money for it. How did he pay for the goods he purchased there? Not by turning in cans and glass for coins.

Was that why he'd gone away? To earn money? But why be so secretive? Was he doing something illegal? Then again, his entire existence violated the law. Even the lightsaber he’d finally agreed to carry on his journey could earn him a quick execution if it were found hidden in his pack.

Maybe he was simply ashamed of how he'd been reduced to earning a living. "If that's what he's doing at all," she said with a sigh. _She_ was ashamed that her first assumptions had been born of jealousy. "As if you have any right to him."

She returned her attention to assembling a hodgepodge breakfast: pallie fruit and flatbread with the charred bits scraped off as best she could. Maybe later she’d attempt the hubba gourd and bristlemelon dish the vendor in Mos Espa had suggested. It would be nice to have something ready for Obi-Wan’s return.

Whenever that might be. He’d suggested he could be gone ten days. Maybe longer.

Sabé’s hands grew clammy as her heart hammered and a sickly buzzing filled her ears like a thousand flies. Lightheaded, she knelt down right where she was, lowered her forehead to the kitchen floor and breathed into her hands.

“You’re not in a cell, you’re not in a cell…”

After a few minutes, her heart slowed, and the buzzing sound of the energy restraints dissipated. She sat up and looked around before attempting to stand to make sure she wouldn’t pass out. Her good rifle hung on its hook near the door, while her blaster stayed hidden in her backpack next to the trunk in the living room. The knowledge that she could defend herself reassured her. Besides, Troopers didn’t come to places like Tatooine. Not yet, anyhow. She needn't worry about Vader.

Except for that troubling thing Obi-Wan had said. _I'm the reason he exists._ What the kark did he mean by that? Had he been on a mission to stop him? And failed? But he couldn't have been _solely_ responsible.

It was difficult not to think of anything else, because it was so kriffing _silent_ here. As she sat, she could almost imagine she heard the dust motes floating in the shaft of sunlight streaming from the pantry window. If not for the high pitch that hummed constantly in her ears she might hear her own heartbeat.

“How does he _do_ this?” she wondered as she clambered to her feet and took the plate to the dining table. The seat across from her was too empty.

Maybe Jedi were suited to exile, accustomed as they were to spending long periods in meditation, and to forsaking attachment.

She laughed toward the place where he customarily sat on his trunk. "Does Obi-Wan seem like a man who's dealing well with solitude?"

"Not at all," his voice seemed to fill her ears, and in the sunlight that streamed through the windows, his eyes twinkled. If his hair weren't so long, she'd be able to see the creases at the corners; beneath that bushy beard lurked dimples. "No better than you, and I've had longer to practice."

They didn't seem any better at being with each other than they were on their own.

"How are you getting along out there in the desert alone?" she asked.

This time, he didn't answer.

Probably that boded well for her sanity.

But what was the point of being sane? What was the point of any of it?  

She could do nothing more than sit here all day, all night, and into the next day, and it wouldn't matter. She lingered at the table long after her plate and cup were empty, listening to the sounds of her stomach digesting her meal.

Eventually the call of nature compelled her to get up. She cleared the table, put her plate and cup in the dishwasher. Then she found the broom and set to work cleaning the floors, muttering to no one that a vacuum would be so much more effective on a desert planet. _Too_ effective. Passing too little time.

Since she had to move the bantha hair rug anyway to sweep the floor beneath it, she might as well clean it. A coiled wire rug beater hung over the display table at the front of the living room. She’d already examined all the knickknacks that sat on the dusty surface and tried to imagine where and when Obi-Wan had accumulated them all. A spiderlike mechanical contraption she couldn’t identify crouched at the back, but it would be unwise to activate it until he assured her it wasn’t an assassin droid of some sort.

She took the rug beater from the wall. An odd item to decorate with, she'd thought, but maybe Obi-Wan didn't know that was what it was.

"Definitely not," she choked out, turning from the cloud of dust that showered over her with the first whack of the rug she'd draped over Nagpal's corral. She rearranged her scarf to cover her mouth and nose completely, and attacked it. "When did the previous hovel owner last clean you?"

Smacking things was satisfying. She bared her teeth, grunted and growled as she had against many a sparring dummy, and was almost sorry when the bantha rug was clean. Remembering the woven rug in the cellar, she retrieved it and beat it, too. By the time she'd finished, she was panting. Sweat poured down her, and her biceps, forearms, and the muscles along her ribcage felt gelatinous. She'd be sore tomorrow.

As she stood in the yard catching her breath, it occurred to her that the rug beating and the skirmish with the Tuskens were the most physical activity she’d experienced in recent memory. To be certain, she’d hauled her fair share of cargo in the past six months, but usually a forklift did the heavy work.

Wiping her brow on her forearm, she nodded to herself. Whoever she was now, she wasn’t ready to lose her combat readiness. She needed to train again. Who knew when they might encounter Sand People again?

Perhaps Obi-Wan would want to join her in an exercise regimen.

An image of him, sweaty, tumbling and spinning with his saber or some other practice weapon, ignited in her mind, burned low and relentless in her body.

She rolled up the rug, threw it over her shoulder, and stalked back indoors with it. “Stop it. Just stop.”

After she’d replaced the rug, she went back upstairs and stood in the center of the living room, looking around for more to clean. She felt a bit like that runaway princess in the fairy tale, the one who happened upon a cottage and decided she simply must clean it up. Well, she’d once been the queen; why not an imaginary princess? Did that make Obi-Wan the droid out working in the phrik mines? She snickered.

A sudden rapping at the front door nearly made her shriek. Instinctively, she hunched lower and went straight for her backpack, slipped out her blaster, and padded silently toward the door.

Obi-Wan never had visitors. He’d told her so.

When she’d reached the front wall and had plastered herself against it, a voice called from outside, “You’ve caught yourself a snake!”

A woman. Mari?

“Open up, it’s Mari and Dayne!”

Relief should have flooded through her, but it took another moment for Sabé to master her breathing and wildly beating heart enough to be able to call out in a steady voice, "Coming!"

She'd reached out to palm the door control before she realized she was still holding her blaster, clammy finger alongside the trigger. Slowly, she withdrew it, set the safety, and stowed it once more in her pack.

The door slid open to reveal the two redheads, their speeder hovering in the yard. How hadn't Sabé heard it? Dayne held a duraplast crate like the one her father and brother brought before, although this one didn't appear to contain any food items aside from a couple of bottles of blue milk. A hiss drew her gaze to the trap Mari had picked up by its handle, where a sizeable snake with scales in variegated earth tones coiled, its forked tongue flicking out.

Sabé took a step back from the agitated reptile. "I just put out bait a few minutes ago."

"Doesn't take long out here," Mari replied. "Where do you want it?"

"I…"

How did Obi-Wan usually deal with them? It hadn't occurred to her if she caught a snake, she'd actually have to kill it herself. And skin it.

Mari and Dayne watched her expectantly.

"To be honest, I don't know what to do with it," Sabé admitted, flushing. "Ben usually does that."

"We noticed the eopie wasn't in his pen," Mari said.

"He...had to go away." Her voice cracked, and she blinked hard. _Kriff, not again._ Why did the Starfalls always have to see her in a state?

Dayne wrinkled her chin, the picture of her mother. “Here, I can show you what to do.” Mari handed over the trap and took the crate from her daughter’s arms. “My first time was pretty hilarious."

"You didn't think so at the time," Mari said. "There was a lot of screaming."

Laughing, Dayne nodded. "Do you have a shovel or a hatchet?”

Sabé went around to Nagpal’s shelter for the shovel. When she returned, Mari had set down the crate and stood nearby, watching with a half-grin. _Well, this should be amusing_.

“I’ll let it out,” said the girl, “and you be ready to behead it.”

Sabé swallowed and nodded, hefting the shovel and bracing her legs. _Come on, woman. You’ve killed people. You can handle a karking snake._ She tried to picture Obi-Wan bashing snakes with a shovel. But he probably used the Force. _Cheater_.

Dayne set the trap down to open it, and suddenly the snake was out, slithering away faster than Sabé had imagined it could. Quickly, she lunged and brought the head of the shovel down on the base of its neck, slicing it neatly off.

“Ha! I did it!”

"Watch out," Mari said, and Sabé noticed that the tail end continued to writhe. "The head can still bite."

Sabé stared for a moment, not believing her, but Mari nodded. Without hesitation, Sabé raised her shovel and smacked the flat of it down on the head. The skull crunched in the sand.

"I suppose I should throw it away?".

"You don't want scavengers this close to the house," Dayne said.

Sabé scooped the smashed head up, carried it to the edge of the hill, and dumped it out.

"The kids like to have contests," Mari told her as she trudged back. "See who can fling them the farthest."

_What else would they do on Tatooine?_ Sabé kept the thought to herself--though she imagined herself and Obi-Wan amusing themselves this way when he returned.

Meanwhile, the snake's body had gone still. Dayne nodded to it. "Step one: pick up the decapitated snake."

Sabé felt her nose crinkle in disgust. "I thought you were going to show me how to do this."

"Dad always says the best way to learn is by doing."

“Seems your dad must be in cahoots with mine, because he always said the same thing to me.” She regretted the comparison the moment she made it, because the pain of not knowing her parents’ fate made her eyes prickle.

She swallowed through the tightness in her throat, ignoring Mari’s watchful gaze as she bent and gingerly picked up the snake. When her fingers closed around the smooth scales, it gave another twitch. She jolted--and let out a yelp.

Dayne and her mother laughed. "At least you didn't drop it like I did the first time."

They took the snake inside, where Mari deposited the milk in the refrigeration unit and then seated herself in the living room so Dayne and Sabé had room in the cramped kitchen to wash and skin the snake. It was a grisly process, from capture to being ground up for sausage, by the end of which Sabé didn't think she'd possibly be able to eat her catch. Snake was barely palatable when she hadn't witnessed its preparation.

When she remarked on this, Mari said, "That's because you haven't had it with a mushroom gravy."

That _did_ sound tasty. "But we don't have any mushrooms. Except the ones that grow around the vaporator."

“Doesn't Ben know they're edible?” Mari came to her feet. “Come on, let’s go harvest some.”

As they crouched at the base of the vaporator, Mari explained that the ones with the best flavor had stalks about as long as Sabé’s thumb, with caps slightly smaller than her palm. “Any bigger and they start to rot.” She plucked them one by one, and Sabé joined her. Before long they each had handfuls, which they brought inside for washing. By the time they'd cooked them Sabé was astonished to look at the chrono and see that two hours had passed.

"Were you on your way somewhere?" she asked. "I'm sure you didn't mean to spend all morning doing someone else's chores."

"Finishing up milk deliveries," Mari replied. "You’re right on our way home."

Although she continued to smile, it receded slightly from her eyes as she scrutinized Sabé. Looking for lingering traces of the strange behavior that had had come over her at the Starfall homestead, probably.

"We brought you some stuff," Dayne said, stepping down into the living room, where the crate they'd brought waited on the low table beside the bed. "Those are Ben's clothes, aren't they? We weren't sure you had any of your own."

Sabé's shoulders stiffened beneath the too-broad ones of the borrowed tunic. A protest formed on her tongue that she did, indeed, have clothes of her own, but she suspected the single pair of stained and shabby coveralls she'd arrived on Tatooine wearing wouldn't pass muster with Dayne and Mari. They didn't with her, either, if she was honest. You could take the woman out of Naboo, but not Naboo out of the woman.

In spite of her tweaked pride, Sabé was drawn to the girl as she pulled a blouse and skirt from the crate, displaying them as if she were a saleswoman in a real clothing shop. Briefly, Sabé's thoughts went to slave family in the junk shop. She'd recognized the fear and sorrow which bound Nora and Cosi as surely as their master, but the freedom of this mother and daughter beckoned to her now. Dayne showed her several such outfits, a pair of wide-legged trousers, a jacket, even sleeping clothes and underthings. All of it rather plain and practical, at least by Sabé's former standards, but compared to what she'd worn for the past two years, almost pretty. Certainly no one would say the Starfalls weren't lovely, in their simple way. Sabé felt suddenly aware of how sweaty and dirty she was, never mind Obi-Wan's old clothes.

"It's so much," she said, throat tightening. "You really shouldn't--"

"They fit me four babies ago," Mari said with a slap at her firm midsection. Perhaps she was wider than she’d been in her twenties, but her curvy figure suited her, Sabé thought.

She wanted to ask whether Dayne wouldn't grow into the clothes, but she didn't want to insult them or seem ungrateful.

“I’m making a fresh start,” Sabé managed as Dayne pressed an outfit into her hands. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

“Just return anything that doesn’t fit the next time we see you, hmm?” Mari’s eyes twinkled.

Again Sabé was rendered speechless. They _wanted_ to see her. And it felt like...more than just to make sure she wasn’t a danger to herself or the captive of a madman. As the two redhaired women gazed at her, their expressions open as though they expected her to go and try on the outfit immediately, she thought of Dormé and Moteé during happier times. How they’d made her laugh…

“Would you like some tea?” she whispered, not trusting her voice not to break.

Dayne smiled while Mari nodded, “Yes, please. That’d be lovely.”

Sabé laid the clothes on the pile and retreated to the kitchen, grateful for a moment to collect herself as the water boiled in the kettle. When it was ready, she rummaged behind the fish tins and pulled out a battered serving tray, on which she placed cups, spoons, and a jar of honey.

As she descended the step into the living room, where Mari had taken the chair while Dayne perched at the edge of the bed, she drew on the old air of the queen as best she could and offered a polite smile.

“Mom, Sabé's a lot taller than you!”

“I told you she was.”

“I hadn’t noticed how much. All that stuff's going to be too short on her."

"Hm. Well, maybe it can be altered," Mari said, sounding unconcerned as she accepted a teacup. "Do you sew at all?"

"Actually, I do."

Sabé passed a cup to Dayne, who slid aside for her to sit down with her on the bed. What a lifetime ago that seemed, when Padmé regularly called upon her for last-minute tailoring of senatorial or formal attire.  

"Is that what you were on Coruscant? A seamstress?" asked Dayne, spooning honey into her tea. "Wulfie says you're from there."

"Dayne," Mari admonished her softly, "let's not be nosy."

Sabé sipped her tea. "It's okay. I did live on Coruscant. So did Ben."

She found herself _wanting_ to open up to them, in whatever way she could. They'd been so generous with their time, with their possessions, and their steady stream of chatter, as much as the chores they'd done together, had made the hours pass without her noticing. _Time flies when you're having fun._ She had so little to offer in return. A piece of her story was the most valuable thing she had.

When Obi-Wan returned, she would give him more, too.

"I was a hairdresser." That was partially true, anyhow. The best lies stuck closest to the truth. "Believe it or not."

Dayne clearly did _not_ believe it, given the way her gingery brows shot up on her forehead as her green eyes flickered to Sabé's hair. Laughing, Sabé combed her fingers through the unkempt, haphazardly shorn locks.

"Shall I prove it to you?"

"Yes," Dayne said, game despite her dubiousness. She set her cup on the table and swiveled on the bed so that her back was to Sabé, one leg tucked beneath her.

"You could let her finish her tea first," Mari said, laughing.

"I don't mind," Sabé reassured her. She took another sip, then put her cup down and sifted through the crate. She'd spied a hairbrush before, and found now that Mari had included a little of everything a woman might need, including hair pins and ties. Monthly supplies, too, though Sabé's contraceptive implant made them unnecessary--for a while longer, anyway. Once again, she blinked back tears at their kindness.

Her hands remembered what to do, even as grief squeezed her throat as she recalled the last time she’d sat behind Padmé to brush through her long tresses. Dayne’s hair was finer, but about the same length, and before long Sabé found herself braiding and winding it into intricate, cloudlike whorls atop the girl’s head. While she worked, Mari gasped and complimented the nimbleness of her fingers. Sabé smiled her thanks and told herself that farm girls had just as much need of pampering as her Queen once had.

As small a thing as it was, she was glad to have this skill to offer them.

Dayne shrieked with delight when she saw herself in the ‘fresher mirror. “Mom's turn!”

Sabé raised her eyebrows to Mari, who laughed and said, “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

She settled in the spot her daughter had vacated while Dayne took the chair, and before long, Sabé had given Mari a center part and wound her long, red locks into coils on either side of her head. Dayne practically pulled her mother into the ‘fresher to see, and there were several minutes of giggles and gasps while Sabé, smiling quietly at the living room floor, waited for them to emerge.

As the Starfalls gushed their thanks and Sabé waved them aside with her own gratitude for the clothing and supplies, the visit seemed to draw to a natural conclusion.

“You will come and visit again? With Ben?” asked Mari at the door. She held the empty crate, while Dayne had the one that had contained the nerfherd's pie and scarf Sim had brought. “We’d love to have you over for dinner.”

“I’ll ask him,” Sabé replied, “but I think that would be lovely.”

This answer satisfied Mari. "In the meantime, if you need anything at all before he returns, don't hesitate to ask. Do you have a comlink?" When Sabé shook her head, Mari said, "That just won't do. Dayne, will you lend her yours?"

For the first time, something less than warm passed between Mari and her daughter. "Why can't _you_ lend her yours? I _need_ mine."

"You can use your brother's."

"Mom, _no._ He'll talk to my friends."

Sabé pinched her lips together against a laugh. Dayne was the right age when a comlink was a girl's most prized possession. Well, _hers_ had been a blaster.

"I'll be fine," she told Mari. "Ben should be back in a couple of days." Truth be told, she didn’t know that for certain, but she’d already received so much from them.

"No, you should have it," said Dayne, handing over the pocket-sized communicator, a little reluctantly.

"I'll bring it back to you soon," Sabé promised.

She stood in the doorway and watched them board their speeder and pull their scarves up loosely over their hairdos, then fly off a little slower than she suspected was the usual, so as not to destroy them in the wind. The smile tugged at her lips again, and she shaded her eyes with her hand and stared after them until her friends were no more than a speck above the hills.

_Friends._  

In a month, she'd gone from being left for dead--or worse--to having friends.

And whatever she and Obi-Wan were.

~*~

That wave of familiarity swelled up and crashed over Sabé once again as she uncapped the bottle of lotion after her shower. _What was the scent?_ It had remained elusive since she'd first smelled it weeks ago. She squeezed it into her palm and sniffed it, but still it wouldn't come to her. She shook her head, then began to rub it into her face and neck, her shoulders and elbows and knees. Maybe it was nothing but a reminder of a more civilized time. Before sickness and prison and the fall of the Republic. When she'd known who she was and where she'd be, always at Padmé's side.

Clean, but not quite ready to go to bed, she tried on the clothes Mari and Dayne brought. To her delight, almost everything fit, or could be made to, with a few minor alterations. Which would give her something to occupy her time.

Tomorrow. Now she was ready for bed, tired from her surprisingly full day of housekeeping and entertaining her guests. She put on a nightshirt Mari sent and went to bed.

As she tucked her arms under the pillow, it hit her with the force of a breaker.

_Rominaria flowers._

The lotion smelled like Rominaria flowers. Like _home._

Sabé closed her eyes and pictured herself walking through the palace gardens in Theed until she drifted to sleep.

She awakened to an incessant buzzing that drew her from her metal cot to the edge of her cell. This was different humming, tighter and more focused--not the barrier at the borders of her own space, but something else.

_Jedi_.

There he was, the next Jedi, ankles and wrists bound by energy restraints. How could she hear that from here? He was down in the fighting pit, dragged along the floor by his collar and left to lie on his back until the Troopers disengaged his bonds and forced him to fight. She’d lost count of how many they’d done this to, all strangers to her, yet she knew them, every one.

But this one...she recognized the dirty blonde hair, the beard, the blue of his eyes when he looked up at her.

_Not him. You can’t have him._

She backed away from the edge, took a running start, leapt through the energy barrier…

And dove into water.

Deeper, deeper she went, churning through the currents until she thought her lungs would explode. He was down here, she knew, buried in the silt, under stones of fallen temples and the carcasses of fish and sea monsters alike.

A hand, like a sunken statue’s, reaching between shafts of sunlight.

She grasped it.

Wrapped his body around hers and swam up, up, until their faces broke the surface and they _breathed_.

The shore, bathed in warmth and sunshine, became a garden bed, and she fell back into the flowers he wove, braiding the stems together like a woman’s hair. The sweet smell of Rominaria flowers. Were they back on Naboo?

He leaned closer and placed the crown of flowers on her head, swearing himself to her with a kiss.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Now that we've only got two chapters left to write (we're reasonably certain there will be 28 when all's said and done), we'll update not once but twice a week! We hope the new Monday/Thursday posting schedule won't be difficult to keep up with. Readers, we love you!  

 

Eopies were hardly the fastest of mounts. The best pace Obi-Wan had ever urged from Nagpal was a trot, but he couldn't sustain it for long. Pushing the animal would tire him too quickly and possibly necessitate yet another night away from home as he rested and recovered.

How Obi-Wan envied the Starfalls their transport now. A landspeeder would serve nicely.

He sighed and let the feeling go, patted his mount's neck in thanks.

There was something positive about this forced lesson in patience. Before, he’d never looked forward to home; he’d always felt the tug of what he’d left behind him. Luke was in the care of family who didn’t--couldn’t--understand his lineage or his potential. How many times had Obi-Wan reminded himself that that was as much a blessing as it was a curse? But leaving Anakin’s son wounded him anew each time he took the reins and turned the eopie northwest.

Until now. With each passing hour in the saddle, his anticipation grew, along with the shadows. The Jedi he’d been not so long ago would’ve felt trepidation, perhaps even annoyance, about the situation in his home. _That_ Jedi might never have invited the temptation inside.

 _This_ Jedi felt a secret smile spread across his face.

Even if Nagpal might sense Obi-Wan’s happiness, the eopie became apprehensive as their path led them into the valley. He had to choose his footing carefully through the uneven terrain, and now and then he stopped completely. Obi-Wan murmured words of encouragement, even nudged him with the Force to coax him to proceed.

Home was in sight now. Not the house itself, but a curl of smoke over the rise of the hill, against the golden hues of the late afternoon sky.

As if someone had given _him_ the rein, he sat up, straight and still, in the saddle. Homesteads burned in the wake of Tuskens...of Hutt thugs come to collect water "taxes."

The Force whispered to him as he'd whispered to Nagpal-- _Not raiders; roast snake and gourds--_ and he rode on. Of course, Sabé claimed not to be much of a cook, and even if she had the urge to entertain herself by experimenting in the kitchen, she had no way of knowing he would return tonight. Next time they were in Mos Espa, he'd pick up a pair of communicators.

The suns in his eyes made him squint so that the hulk of his humble abode appeared only as a rounded shadow at first. As the eopie loped closer, they passed into the shade of the hovel’s hill--

And he saw her.

Sabé, standing on the northeast rise beyond their yard, one hand raised to shield her eyes as she scanned northward, the light of the suns behind her. Her skirt--a new one--flapped in the late afternoon breeze, as did her bobbed hair. Her boots planted firmly in the earth made her look as though she’d grown there.

Obi-Wan’s heart thundered.

The slippery sands at the foot of the hill had made Nagpal skittish again, so Obi-Wan dismounted and tugged at the bridle to lead the beast upward. He had barely a spare thought for comforting words now, urging him simply to _come on_.

When her gaze found him, he let go of Nagpal's rein. The eopie could find his own way up, in his own time; Obi-Wan could wait no longer. Neither could Sabé, her boots kicking up clouds of dust as she started toward him.

She might not have missed _him_ , he told himself. She might simply be bored out of her mind...

Something held him back. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see a small boy tugging on the end of his cloak, as Luke had done at the Lars homestead. The cloth had only caught on the spiked arm of a cactus. Rather than pull away and tear it, or lose time bending to free it, he took the funnel flower from the inner pocket, wrapped in the cloth he'd kept damp throughout the ride, and shrugged his arms free of the garment and the straps of his pack. They thudded softly to the ground behind him as he scrambled over the top of the hill, dislodging loose rocks which scratched and skittered down. Nagpal mooed, a dismayed sound that echoed in the valley below. Obi-Wan was too breathless to apologize.

But he exhaled her name as Sabé's arms went around him and his around her. She inhaled, breasts swelling against his chest. He felt her heart drumming as arhythmically as his, her breath hot on his neck. He imagined her lips, slightly parted, saw himself in his dreams pressing his own to them. It would take nothing at all, the smallest of movements of his head, to kiss her.

They stood that way for a moment, or an eternity, and though their bodies remained still it seemed as if they grew into each other, like two vines entwining together toward the suns.

Her voice, a tickling murmur. He didn't catch her words.

"What?" Without releasing her, he leaned back enough that he could see her, and was so distracted for a moment by taking in her appearance in greater detail than before that he nearly missed her answer.

"Rominaria flowers. Do you remember, in the Naboo palace gardens?"

He didn't know what prompted this--too much time alone, perhaps--but it did remind him of the flower he held.

Letting go of her, he carefully unwrapped it, hoping he hadn't crushed the petals in his embrace. He couldn't take his eyes off Sabé, though. With the new skirt she wore a blouse with a jacket over it, all in varying hues of earth and sand. Common garb for Tatooine women, almost identical to what Beru had been wearing, and humble compared to the elaborate Naboo fashions Sabé had worn as a Handmaiden. Yet Obi-Wan had never looked at her then as he did now.

She'd twisted the front part of her hair into a braid.

"Sabé," he began, "you look…"

He couldn't continue. Felt his cheeks burn as he saw hers flush red. He tucked the purple bud into the top of the braid, warm from the suns. Her fingers brushed against his as he let them fall, and she traced the stem near the base of the flower. His other hand returned to her hip, and hers remained on his.

A kiss. That wouldn’t be too much to ask. Would it?

Was this how people fell in love?

The idea of a kiss took on a sudden and overwhelming significance as he weighed the feelings he’d allowed to rise to the surface against the logistics of how one actually kissed a woman. Should he place his hand on her cheek? Pull her to him by the waist? Just lean down and do it? Should it be gentle or assertive? A brief touch or something lingering? Did Sabé have a preference, and if so, how in the stars could he figure _that_ out?

While he struggled, he watched her gaze drop from his eyes to his mouth, her cheeks turning redder as she shifted from one foot to another. Perhaps she didn’t _want_ to kiss, and was looking for a polite way to disengage.

But what if she _did_? Would she initiate? She could, of course, but perhaps she wasn’t certain if _he_ wanted her to. Should he ask her outright?

A slew of curses he’d learned from a crew of Corellian pirates a decade ago assaulted his brain, and he knew he deserved every one of them. In that span of time, she’d stepped backward. Or had he? In any case, their hands no longer rested on each other’s waists, and the moment drifted away on the breeze that wafted between them.

A shuffling sound drew Sabé’s attention. “Nagpal…”

She pivoted, and her skirt flared out, licking at the legs of his trousers as she moved past him to go to Nagpal, who'd just clambered over the rise. Obi-Wan turned in time to see her take hold of the bridle and receive a nuzzle from the beast.

And to plant a kiss on the bridge of its elongated snout.

"You let your opportunity slip through your fingers," Qui-Gon said, "and another male was there to seize the moment."

"It must be exhausting to lurk around waiting for the perfect moment to mock me," Obi-Wan replied under his breath.

Sabé gave him a curious look as she led Nagpal past by the bridle. "I'll get him watered and rubbed down while you clean up for supper."  

He nodded mutely after her, aware suddenly of how he must look--and, after the long day’s ride, _smell_ \--to her, especially in contrast to how much care she'd obviously taken with her own appearance tonight. And that didn't even touch on his muttered ramblings to a ghost.

No. Clearly, this was not how people fell in love.

As Sabé disappeared around the north side of the house with Nagpal, Obi-Wan realized he’d left his cloak and backpack--with his saber inside--at the foot of the hill. He half-ran, half-slid down to the cactus that had snagged it, snatched it up, and fell backward into the sand when the plant wouldn’t relinquish the garment.

Shifting to his knees, he threaded the backpack through the sleeves and tossed it aside, then tried again to disentangle the cloak.

The cactus wasn’t giving it up.

“Oh, for kark’s sake.”

Obi-Wan tugged and yanked, but the sharp spines were embedded in the hem. He crouched lower and peeled away the fabric bit by bit, which worked--unless one considered the needles that remained along the edge and stabbed his fingers.

He was half tempted to empty the pockets and leave it there.

“This is perfect,” he grumbled. “Nagpal gets a rubdown, and all I get is poked by a cactus.”

When he’d freed the last of the cloak, he shouldered his backpack and carried the garment at arm’s length, lest the spines decide his flesh made a better home than the coarse fabric. He’d have to find the tweezers in his cellar--stars knew where they’d gone--and pick the barbs from his cloak one at a time.

He was about to complain that he didn’t have time for this, but of course he had nothing _but_ time.

To think, five minutes ago he'd been so eager to return home.

The instant he pushed open the door and stepped inside, the aroma of roasting meat filled his nostrils. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and released his irritability with an exhale, then let himself be filled with gratitude as he breathed in. He had all he needed--and more. He'd returned from a long journey and would have nourishment and companionship. As he moved through the house, hanging his cloak and taking off his dusty boots, putting away his lightsaber and the other items he'd carried in his pack, he noticed how spotlessly clean everything was. Sabé had been busy preparing for his return. He'd be ready when she came in from tending Nagpal.

Although he would rather have lingered in the sonic shower and let its pulse relax his sore muscles and stiff joints, he bathed quickly and dressed in a clean tunic and trousers. As he rubbed moisturizer on his face and hands, its floral scent coaxed a memory from some forgotten corner of his mind. He’d bought the lotion in Mos Espa’s market because the scent had stirred something in him, though he’d never quite figured out what it was. _Remembrance_ , the vendor had suggested.

"Rominaria flowers," Obi-Wan said aloud to his reflection.

He felt the tug of a smile but noticed his mouth was scarcely visible amidst his overgrown mustache and beard. The palace gardens where those flowers bloomed had never been left to grow as wild as he'd let himself become.

No wonder Sabé had made no move to kiss him. It could hardly be more pleasant than kissing a cactus.

He rummaged through a fabric bin on the shelf behind him and found the brush he hadn’t bothered to use in far too long, dragging it through the gnarls in his nearly shoulder-length hair until it was smooth again. Then he found a stretchy band--where had all these hair accessories come from?--and ran his fingers through the strands at the crown of his head, pulling them back to bind into a bun of sorts and leaving the rest to hang. He didn't look in the mirror to check whether the hair style suited him, for he realized it must look rather like Qui-Gon's, except less grey. _For now_.  At least this way it wasn’t in his eyes. Scanning the shelves once more, he didn’t see the scissors he used to trim his mustache. He’d probably repurposed them in his workshop, like the idiot he was. Well, tomorrow he’d find them, clean them up, and fix this mess.

When he emerged from the ‘fresher, Sabé had already served two plates and was placing them on the dining table. Savory smells filled the small space, and his stomach rumbled. She turned around, wiping her hands on the dish towel she’d slung over her shoulder, and started when she saw him.

“Got used to the silence, then?” he asked as he joined her.

“I--not exactly.”

Her eyes darted over him, and his hand went self-consciously to the bun he’d just tied, fingers trailing down over the place where his braid used to be. He stared at the one in her hair again, the purple flower still tucked into it. At Motesta Oasis, it’d been displayed at the center of the table. He liked it better where it was, as if it had sprouted from fertile earth.

"I found myself talking to no one rather a lot," she said, returning the towel to the kitchen before pulling out her chair and sitting down. "Like you."

As he drew up his trunk to the table, Obi-Wan considered telling her that it wasn't _no one_ he talked to, when she spoke again.

"Mari and Dayne Starfall dropped in yesterday."

He paused as he was about to slice into the snake. “Oh?”

“Brought me some things they thought I needed. Clothes that fit. A comlink we need to return.”

“That was very kind."

A stilted reply, he knew, but after the two years' solitary existence he'd had in this house, it was difficult to wrap his mind around a social call transpiring here in his absence. And that its occurrence didn't mean he was no longer safe here. He was  glad Sabé hadn't been left totally on her own for five days, a prisoner of isolation even if no locks and bars held her captive.

The mention of the Starfalls, of course, took him back to the scene at their homestead that had started all of this.

Guilt prickled at the back of his neck. He set down his utensils with a clink against the earthenware plate. "I'm sorry for my abrupt departure. I...you must've been...confused."

Mouth full, Sabé raised her eyebrows in affirmation. That made two of them.

“I can tell you this,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound a complete ass for still withholding some information, wishing that she were indeed _no one_ so he’d feel less compunction about the necessity of lying. But of course it was the fact that she was now _someone_ to him that put him in this position at all. “There’s a person of interest to Darth Vader here. Someone I need to look in on from time to time. I can...offer a minimum of protection. It’s the least I can do.”

Sabé finished chewing and stared at him. This was, perhaps, the most information he'd volunteered about his presence on Tatooine, perhaps the most he'd spoken at one time since she’d arrived.

Her chin tightened, a look flickering across her face as if she might ask, _Why didn't you just say so?_ He certainly asked himself that.

"I forgot water," she said, and started to stand.

Obi-Wan held up a hand. "Let me." When she protested, he added, “Please. I’ve been sitting all day.” It seemed she needed a moment to chew on this.

Taking his time at the sink, he let his eyes rove over the way Sabé had cleaned and organized his meager collection of plates, bowls, and cups. She’d scoured the tea kettle, which used to be black. Now he could see his warped reflection in the rounded metal belly, wide blue eyes staring back at him as if to say, _Now what, genius?_

He felt the tug of Qui-Gon’s presence, but shooed him away.

When he returned to the table with the water, she seemed as composed as if he’d never uttered the name _Vader_. But her meal remained untouched. Obi-Wan let out a long breath. Picked up his knife and fork, but couldn’t seem to cut himself a bite. Set the cutlery down again.

“Is...the person safe?” she asked.

Obi-Wan looked at her until she raised her eyes to his. Then he nodded.

“Good.”

Sabé picked up her fork and stabbed a bit of hubba gourd, stuffing it into her mouth and chewing laboriously. But then her face screwed up, and tears began to run down her cheeks. She snatched up her napkin and pressed it into her eyes as though that would stop the flow...until her shoulders began to shake.

What should he do? Clearly he’d dredged up something awful with his mention of Vader. Could she tell him about it? Would she even want to? And how dare he think of offering comfort when he’d failed to prevent any of this from happening?

“Oh, stars,” she muttered into the cloth. Another fit of sobbing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” _It’s all my fault_.

“This isn’t who I am,” she went on, her voice muffled through the napkin. “I’m not the sort of woman who cries into her dinner.”

“I know you’re not,” he said. Should he reach out to her? Go around the table and hold her? Take the napkin from her and dry her tears? Or was that his own selfish desire?

He sat, impotent, until her sobbing subsided. She blew her nose and raised her head, eyes red-rimmed, the fading sunlight casting a sheen on the tears drying on her pale face. She inhaled, then released her breath again, shakily.

"All I could do was weep in Vader's presence," she said. "You said he couldn't read my thoughts but...he _was_ there for Padmé's secrets. That's why we were arrested. Everyone knew she'd opposed the war. If anyone was going to rebel against the Empire, it would've been her."

It would've. It had. The seeds of Rebellion she'd planted were being tended by Bail Organa. Did Sabé know that? Would it help her?

"And then she died…" She trailed off, chin quaking.

Although Obi-Wan tried not to think of it, the moment played in his mind like a holovid. Padmé’s son in his arms. Her dying breath in his ears, and the infants' cries. Part of him wanted to confess it to Sabé.

But what would she say if she knew?

"He killed her."

Obi-Wan blinked at her across the table. What?

"Motée. Vader killed her before I was brought to him." He recognized his own pragmatism in her next words: “I fully expected to die next.”

"But you withstood him," Obi-Wan said, unwilling to allow himself to imagine what Anakin--no, _Vader_ \--might have done to her. To any of them. Even Padmé had not been safe from him. "You were strong."

"I was _lucky_. Like the person you're protecting."

Her gaze dropped to her hands smoothing the creases out of her crumpled napkin. He waited for her to go on with her story, but when she looked up again her eyes pierced him, as did the directness of the question she asked him.

“What did you mean, you’re the reason Vader exists?”

Obi-Wan's throat closed up, and for a moment he couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to. But she waited, probably expecting him to dodge the question. He shouldn’t have left that unexplained, hours before he left her on her own for five days and nights. What horrors must she have imagined?

Nothing worse than the reality.

She might hate him if she knew--and he'd deserve it. She might leave--but didn't she deserve to have that choice?

 _You don't have to tell her everything,_ a voice inside him said. _Only enough._

"I had the chance to kill him," he said aloud. "Before any of this started...I could've ended it. But I didn't."

Sabé's face paled, almost the same color as the synstone. Her voice was the whisper of the wind blowing over the top of the house. "Why not?"

"Because he was…" _You were my brother._ Obi-Wan could not say it again. "...my friend."

He looked down at his own hands. They were trembling.

"Anakin," said Sabé.

"Yes."

A deep exhalation--not from him, for his breath was trapped inside the immovable cage of his breast. If he moved he might sob. He clutched his hands together to still them, too, and brought his gaze to the snake cooling in its sauce. _Mushrooms_ , he thought, feeling strangely detached from them, even from wondering where they might’ve come from. They were simply there.

Just as he was. Had been.

He forced himself to raise his eyes to Sabé, for self-pity was not the Jedi way. Even if he wasn’t a Jedi any longer, it wasn’t conducive to thriving as a human. Or as a companion.

She bit her lip. They watched each other for a long minute. Finally she raised her fork. “Eat,” she commanded, waving it at his untouched plate.

"Exactly what I would have advised," said Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan obeyed.

~*~

It wasn't until after they finished the meal and were clearing the table that he realized he hadn't set any snake traps before his departure.

"Did you catch it yourself?" he asked. They'd eaten in silence, as if to digest the heavy course of conversation that preceded it. Now he felt he could speak again, and of lighter things.

Sabé swept past him into the kitchen, shoulders drawn back, chin raised slightly above her elegant neck. A queen couldn't have looked more regal, even though she wore the secondhand garb of a milkman's wife to preside over a feast of roasted sandsnake.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” She smiled, dimples flashing. “Then I realized I had no clue about what came next.”

“Oh, dear,” he said with some chagrin as he loaded the plates into the sonic dishwasher. “I should’ve thought of that.”

“Lucky for me that was the day that Mari and Dayne visited. They showed me what to do.”

“Did they explain about the…” He wiggled his hand as though it was a flopping serpent’s tail.

“Thankfully.”

“And the--” He made biting motions with his index and middle fingers as fangs.

“That, too.”

“Bless them. And the mushrooms? Did Mari bring those?"

"They're the ones that grow around the vaporator."

" _No_ ,” he said. But she nodded, barely stifling her laughter. “Really? All this time, and I could’ve had mushrooms?”

“Apparently so.”

He threw up his hands, then moved out of the way for Sabé to load the cups and cutlery. “Anything else I should know?”

“Oh.” She wiped her hands on the towel before handing it to Obi-Wan. “I told them I was a hairdresser on Coruscant.”

His eyebrows rose and he gave her a half-nod. “Well played.”

“I even did their hair before they left. They love me now.” At that, Sabé did laugh, and it brightened the room.

 _They're not the only ones._ “Will you cut mine?” he blurted out.

Sabé's laughter faded, but her smile lingered. "I'm really more experienced with up-dos."

"As you can see, I'm not averse to those."

Her eyes darted upward to his little knot, and her dimples deepened with a silent laugh. "The only hair I've ever cut is mine…" She ran her fingers through the wavy ends. "Obviously I'm not a skilled barber."

"Anything would be an improvement over this," Obi-Wan said, only realizing belatedly that perhaps his request had made her uncomfortable. "Unless it's too much to ask."

She shook her head. "Whatever you'd like."  

He went down to the cellar to find the scissors, which he located more quickly than anticipated. On his way back upstairs, he glanced at the wall of tick marks and saw that Sabé had continued the calendar in his absence. With a twinge, he traced them with his fingertips. For however long he had her, she'd etched a permanent mark on his life.

When he returned, she’d found a comb and his straight razor in the ‘fresher and an extra towel, presumably to catch the clippings. “Come on,” she said on her way to the side door. “There’s a little light left. We’ll do it outside. Makes cleanup easier.” And with a wink, she was gone.

Obi-Wan followed and sat where she told him to on the bottom step. She draped the towel over his shoulders, tucking the ends into the front collar of his tunic. Then she sat on the step behind him, knees on either side of his shoulders. Her fingers went to work undoing the bun at the back of his head, running through the strands to loosen them before drawing the comb through. He cast his gaze far away, on the orange horizon; but every nerve in his body was attuned to her touch.

“Short? Long?”

He hadn’t thought about that. Most human Jedi grew their hair long and tied it back, but there were many who didn’t. Himself, for one. Somehow he couldn’t see a return to the short, civilized style he’d maintained during the war years. And yet, he didn’t want to look like an unkempt hermit, either.

“How about just a trim? What do they call it--cleaning it up?”

They lapsed into silence, the intermittent snip of the scissors lulling him into an almost meditative state. She didn’t take much off, only an inch or so, and every once in a while he saw bits of golden fluff floating away on the breeze, catching the last of the light as they went.

Closing his eyes, he imagined his braid between her teeth, and tucked into her underwear.

A man could be remade a thousand different ways. This way couldn’t be wrong. Emotion swelled in his throat, pricked the backs of his eyelids.

“You’re done,” she announced, and he opened his eyes as she came around to the front and slid her fingers into his hair above his ears to shake out the strays. Her gaze lowered to his lips. She flushed. “Um. The effect might be a bit more dramatic if I trimmed your beard and mustache, too.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. "It wouldn't be my life if it were free of drama, would it?"

"And I thought the Jedi were meant to be serene."

He felt anything but as she set to work grooming him, and she must sense it, the quick beat of his pulse at her fingertips as she tilted his chin back so she could trim and shave his neck. He'd closed his eyes during the haircut, but found himself unable to avert his gaze from her face now. Above him, her forehead puckered between her eyebrows--she'd shaped them, he noticed--and the tip of her tongue darted out between her lips as her concentration intensified. He clasped his hands on his knees to restrain himself from reaching out and pulling her down into his lap.

But now she’d finished with his neck and switched from straight razor to scissors again, snipping away at his beard from his chin to the angle of his jaw. Finally, placing an index finger on his upper lip, she delicately trimmed his mustache. He could feel his own breath warming the back of her hand, and it was all he could do not to kiss it.

When she was done, she brushed her fingers over his lips to get rid of the extra hairs; then, perhaps thinking better of that, she took the end of the towel to do the same.

“You’re a new man,” she breathed.

She took a step back to survey him, and the storm of emotions brewed again as at once he missed her closeness, her warmth, her attention. He wanted to touch her the way she’d touched him--brush her hair, wash it, bathe her--he didn’t much care. Any excuse to keep his hands on her, or hers on him.

A sudden gust of wind nearly blew the towel from his shoulders, and he had to leap up to snatch it.

“Let’s go inside,” he said with some reluctance, for the suns had dipped below the horizon. No sense in getting chilled, for the temperature would drop rapidly.

Obi-Wan held the door open while Sabé gathered the supplies. As she ducked under his arm, he managed a whisper. “ _Thank you_.”

She paused, just within the crook of his elbow, her face barely illuminated by the suns’ dying light. In reply she smiled, and he followed her back inside.

They wiped bare feet on the mat, then Sabé continued down the hall to the refresher. To wash the scissors and razor, Obi-Wan assumed, but after she shut off the tap, she called to him, "Aren't you going to come have a look?"

Oh. Yes. He supposed he ought to see his transformation, but it was enough to have basked for a moment in the light of her approval.

Sabé stepped out of the 'fresher to give him berth, but leaned against the doorframe as he stood before the mirror.

The first thing he noticed as he ran his fingers over his neck was how pale it was where she’d trimmed away his unruly beard, compared to the exposed parts of his face. Despite covering up as much as he could, it was impossible to avoid the suns’ rays entirely.

Next, he saw she hadn’t done a bad job with the haircut, nor with the beard. She’d shaped it much the same way he used to, leaving it a little longer at the chin. Had she remembered?

 _Remembrance_.

He looked the same as he had once upon a time, before his story had turned against him, against everyone. Here stood the shell of the same man he’d once been, a man who now contained a different set of priorities. How could his hair form the same waves it had when he’d been a young Knight? Why wasn’t his beard more peppered with gray? Could eyes that had seen the things he’d seen remain the same color and shape, remain open?

But they could cry, as they did now, when he sobbed openly. He tried not to see in the mirror the way his body shook, how his arms crossed over his torso, fingers finally covering his face and wrapping over the hair at the base of his neck where his braid had been.

He didn’t see Sabé step into him, but he felt her forehead against his shoulder, her hand pressing into the small of his back, the other over the wrist of the hand that covered his face. _I'm not the sort of man who cries at his reflection,_ he wanted to say, but he was too far gone for that.

She stayed with him until the sobs became weary sighs, then led him to bed.

For a while they simply lay fully clothed on their backs, listening to the wind whistle around the corners of the house. Too exhausted to speak, Obi-Wan crossed his hands over his waist and stared up at the rounded alcove, Sabé mirroring him.

She still wore the flower he’d tucked into her hair. Whether she’d simply forgotten to remove it for sleep or kept it there for...some other reason, the sight of it comforted him.

But not enough to relax him into slumber. He’d had this feeling before, of being too tired to sleep.

 _Close your eyes_ , Qui-Gon had told him more than once. _That’s your first step_.

He closed them.

But something was wrong. It took him several minutes to pinpoint it, and when he did, his eyes flew open.

He’d grown so used to hearing Sabé’s breathing beside him that it unsettled him when he couldn’t. And the wind had grown so loud it drowned out the sounds of her breath.

They both sat up.

“ _Sandstorm_.”

“Nagpal,” Sabé replied, and they leapt from the bed to go outside and secure him in his shelter.


	12. Chapter 12

The storm had only been raging for a few minutes, but by the time Sabé and Obi-Wan emerged from Nagpal's shelter, shutting and locking the door behind them, the entire landscape of the hillside had changed. It was like disembarking a ship onto a new planet.

A planet with an unbreathable atmosphere. The wind snatched at Sabé’s scarf, so she crooked her elbow in front of her nose and mouth and held her breath. Impossible to see through, too, even with the goggles Obi-Wan had shoved at her on their way out. She grasped the back of his tunic so they didn't become separated between the eopie shelter and the house. As a child, she'd heard a story about people on an ice world getting lost in their own yard during a blizzard and had been vaguely terrified despite not fully believing it. Now she knew it to be true.

Her relieved exhale when they were safely back inside turned to a sigh of dismay when she peeled off her sand-coated goggles and scarf and saw the drifts that had blown in the door, forming miniature dunes in the hall. It showered off their clothes and out of their hair as they ran their fingers through.

"So much for cleaning you up," she said, observing the wind-whipped gnarls of his hair and his caked beard, but he didn't acknowledge having heard her. She couldn't hear her own voice over the howling outside.

A sudden flash of red between them. The energy field of her cell on the dungeon ship. Her throat raw as she screamed to the white armored troopers patrolling the grated walkway on the other side, but sound couldn't pass through the barrier any more than people.

"That's Obi-Wan, not a prison guard," she said aloud, staring at the back of the white-clad man who couldn't hear her as he reached for the broom and dustpan. "You're free."

Well. Not precisely free. They were rather trapped here, for the duration of this storm. That didn't help slow her racing heart.

"Not trapped. Sheltered."

Her fingers caught in her braid. The flower he'd brought her was gone. Her eyes stung, and not only from the sand.

She watched mutely as Obi-Wan swept up the sand, which he dumped into the kitchen compost bin. After he’d tucked the broom away again, he turned and said something with a questioning look on his face.

“What?”

He came closer and spoke loudly. “Want to wash the sand off? I worry the sonic shower might go out soon.”

Her mouth formed an O before she nodded. Quickly, she retrieved her sleep garments and shut herself into the ‘fresher, where she made a fast job of getting every grain of sand she could off her body and out of her hair. When she’d dressed for bed, she relinquished the room to Obi-Wan, who waited outside with his own sleep clothes in his arms. His eyes darted over the new ones she wore, which Mari had brought--just a loose shirt and pants very like the ones he'd lent her, but better fitting.

Flushing, Sabé crossed back into the living space, where she discovered a fine layer of sand covered every bit of floor her bare feet touched. She trailed a palm over the small bedside table--sand.

_So quickly_. Her heart gave a panicky throb as she realized that Obi-Wan very well could’ve still been traveling home when the storm overtook him. He might have died out there. And been buried.

Sabé gulped air as though she were drowning. For several minutes she had to focus on her breathing. It finally regulated when she went to place a hand on the hallway wall to feel the sonic shower’s vibration through it. He was in there. He was safe.

The storm gusts seemed to change direction briefly, battering the opposite side of the house before resuming assault on the eastern side. Wind whistled under the side door, chilling her feet and smacking her toes with yet more sand. She went to the bed and pulled off a blanket--the top one, already coated in those ever present granules--and rolled it up as she returned to the door, where she tucked it securely on the floor.

A hand on her shoulder made her bolt upright. She whirled around to see Obi-Wan wearing sleep clothes and an apologetic expression.

"Sorry," he said--loudly, but it sounded muted to her. His eyes darted down to her makeshift door seal. "Good thinking."

"What now?"

Obi-Wan glanced at the bed. "I won't be able to sleep."

Sabé wouldn't either. She was too keyed up by the adrenaline rush. "Sabacc?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Do you have cards?"

"Mari brought some."

She went to get them from the table by the front door. The comlink lay beside it, and she turned it on. Mari would want to know that she was all right. And that Obi-Wan had made it back in time.

Across the house, Obi-Wan went to the kitchen and held up the kettle. _Tea?_ he mouthed, and Sabé nodded. She spoke into the comlink, but in response only heard the crackle of static. Dread juddered in her chest. Were her new friends all right? She looked at Obi-Wan, who was watching her as he waited for the water to boil. Beneath his newly trimmed mustache, she saw his lips curve in a slight smile. He knew her thoughts. They would just have to wait it out and assess the damage after.

For now, there were cups of tea and a game of sabacc on the gritty bed to distract from the grim reality of life on Tatooine. Sabé scooted the bedside table up to the mattress, then switched on the small gadget that projected the interference field necessary for play, placing it in the center of the covers. When Obi-Wan joined her with the tea, he set both cups on the table and took his place across from her.

“I warn you,” he said, again with a raised voice, “I’ve been told I’m very competitive.”

“I’ve never played before.” That was a lie.

Four games later, after he’d coached her through all the rules and lost each time, he called her on it. Sabé could only laugh through her yawn. Obi-Wan followed suit. They watched each other from beneath drooping eyelids, then by wordless agreement cleared the game equipment from the mattress. She started to reach for the teacups, but he picked them up first.

"Loser has dish duty," he said, close to her ear.

Skin tingling where his beard had brushed it, she settled down beneath the sheet while he went to the kitchen. She trained her ears for the scuff of his soles on the sandy floor and the clinks of him pottering with the teacups, but all she could hear was wind and sand beating the house. The drumming sounded almost like rain.

When Obi-Wan returned from the kitchen, he didn't come to bed right away, but stood in front of the row of windows. If she ignored the dining table beneath them, they almost looked like the viewports of a shuttle. She'd thought she was aboard Padmé’s, during her fever dreams. From behind, in his light-colored sleeping clothes, he looked like a young Jedi again. A smile twitched on her lips as she remembered how he'd glowered out at the desert as if he'd never found anything more offensive.

At last he came to bed, reaching up to press the light switch on the wall panel above their heads before he slid beneath the sheet. He'd left the kitchen light light on, so when Sabé rolled onto her side, facing him, and the mattress shifted as he turned to mirror her, she could still make out his features.

"This is getting to be a habit," she said. When his eyebrows rose in question, she added, “Us getting stranded together in sandstorms on Tatooine.”

Instead of a snarky remark like she remembered from before, Obi-Wan's laugh rang out. Even with the battering sand and howling wind, it filled the space, throaty and full and wholly _him_. She wanted to kiss him.

With the full effect of his grin directed at her, it was all she could do not to.

Fortunately, he yawned. "'Night, Sabé," he murmured, and soon the regular rise and fall of his ribcage told her he was asleep.

She followed the motion and dreamed of the graceful curves of dunes being reshaped by the desert wind.

~*~

A scraping impact jarred her awake. The Troopers liked to shock the prisoners out of their slumber this way, banging their blaster muzzles against the metal walls between the cells. She sat up at once, never wanting them to see her so vulnerable, and stared into…

Darkness.

An arm found her, pressing across her chest as though to protect her, but she knew better. How did a Trooper get inside? Why were the lights out? She couldn’t see the energy field; did that mean it was off? Could she escape? But no, the sound of it was deafening, as though the barrier were everywhere, whirling like a storm.

She grasped the arm and twisted it away from her. There was a yelp of surprise. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

A gentle hand found her face. The tickle of hair on her forehead, warm breath as the person leaned in close to speak over the noise. “It’s just me. Obi-Wan. Something’s hit the roof.”

Obi-Wan. Tatooine. The sandstorm.

Her fingers reached out and found his beard, stroked it. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Power’s out. I’m going to get the emergency lantern. Stay there.”

Sabé strained her ears to hear where he’d gone, but his footsteps were lost in the roar of the wind and the pounding of her heart. A sickly yellow light switched on and revealed him standing at the table by the front door.

She let out her breath and mustered a smile. Obi-Wan returned it as he came back to the bed, placing the lantern on the table as he sat at the edge, facing her. Closer than usual, so they could hear each other. He touched her drawn-up knee, searched her face.

"Better now?"

Sabé nodded, raked a hand through her hair. "What hit the house?"

He shook his head. "Piece of the vaporator? Hopefully not Nagpal's roof." His thumb stroked her knee through the sheet, and she realized she'd tensed. "Junk from clear across the desert, maybe. We'll have a scavenger hunt when this is over."

The corners of his eyes crinkled.

_When will it be over?_ she wanted to ask, but that sounded childish. "How long did we sleep?"

"I don't know, but I'm hungry. Breakfast?"

Her stomach growled. Obi-Wan stood again, picked up the lantern, and held out his free hand to her. She accepted it readily, and let him lead her through the dark house to the kitchen. The windows were completely coated in sand. Were they buried?

On the pantry shelf he found a second lantern, which he handed to Sabé so she didn't have to use the refresher in the dark. She tended to necessities quickly to preserve the battery, dragged a brush through her hair and rebraided the front, and switched the spare lantern off as she rejoined him in the kitchen, where he stooped to take items out of the refrigeration unit.

"I'm afraid we won't be able to have breakfast after all," he said with a glance over his shoulder.

The power being out would mean the 'fridge was out of commission, too. "It can't all be spoiled already?"

"It's fine--for now." Obi-Wan grinned and gestured to the battery-powered chrono on the shelf above the stove. "But it's almost noon. We'll have to make it brunch."

After she processed that somehow the wind-blown sand was thick enough to block out the light of not one, but _two_ suns at their apex, Sabé huffed out a laugh. "Brunch? Now that sounds decadent."

"If only we'd thought to pick up a bottle of wine when we were in town, we could've had Coruscant Coolers."

"We don't have juice, either."

"I'd settle for wine."

"I'm more a Rancor Blood girl, myself."

He seemed to consider this. “That makes perfect sense,” he declared. The wind and sand battered harder against the side door and they both started. “Although it might be nice if we had a cask of Port in a Storm.”

Sabé laughed. “Only if we need to clean out our innards.”

“True. We’re not there yet.” While they spoke, he’d set out all the perishables. “We’d best eat this now.”

“Mmm, rewarmed snake and mushroom,” Sabé said as she retrieved two plates. “My favorite.”

Blessedly, the gas stove still worked, and they served up the dish with last night’s leftover tea as the storm howled around them, then took everything to the dining table where they ate mostly in silence by the light of the emergency lantern. The hubba gourd and bristlemelon dish would keep until later, so they agreed that would be their dinner. If the storm lasted longer than a couple of days, they’d resort to the dried meats and fresh fruit they kept in the cellar storage.

When they finished eating, Obi-Wan took the spare lantern and availed himself of the ‘fresher to change clothes, then went down to the cellar to check their supplies--most importantly, the water level in the reservoir--while she cleared the table. Without the sonic dishwasher, she had to wash their plates by hand. Even that seemed an extravagant use of the water that could, depending on the length of the storm, become a precious commodity. She moistened a sponge just enough to wipe off the mushroom gravy and wipe the tea stains from the inside of the cups. Not highly sanitary, but she supposed she'd lived through the Dantari flu.

Obi-Wan was still in the cellar when she finished, so she quickly changed out of her sleep clothes into a pair of trousers and a fresh blouse with a sleeveless undershirt so she could peel off layers if the house became too stuffy. Did he have a fan anywhere?

A metallic _thunk_ jarred her again. Something else hitting the roof? It persisted, and she realized the sound was coming from the open trap door.

"Need any help down there?" she called, but even without the storm, he wouldn't have been able to hear over the pounding.

Turning off her lantern and leaving it on the shelf above his cloak, she felt her way downstairs with a hand on the wall, guided by the grooves of the hatch marks and his light across the room. It was quieter underground--banging aside. When at last her feet found the cool duracrete floor, she saw the source of the noise: Obi-Wan rapping on the cistern to check the water level. Now he ran his fingers around the soldered metal seals, presumably checking for leaks.

And he talked to himself.

“That’s beside the point,” he snapped. “It’s not just whether all this will last. It’s what it would _do_ to her if things get bad.”

A silence as he crossed to the produce bins. He raised his lantern and peered into the depths of the containers, rummaging around as though counting the potatoes and onions. He paused. Listening? He didn't seem to have noticed her standing there.

“This is the _last_ place she’ll feel safe.”

More rummaging. Another pause as he raked a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t think she would. But...no, she wouldn’t.”

He set down his lantern on the shelf, picked up a bristlemelon, and thumped it. “She’d be tempted, though. That’s what worries me. And I can’t blame her. She’s been through too much.” He checked the other melons, returning each to storage. “It doesn’t matter. It _is_ like a prison here. I can’t change that.”

Sabé looked away from him, back to the tick marks on the wall. A prisoner's calendar. The ones she'd scratched in his absence were the last. They'd forgotten last night to make one. She'd been so happy to see him that it never crossed her mind. He'd come _home_ to her. Apparently if he'd felt the same way, he didn't this morning. She scuffed to the desk. Where had she left the knife?

Though she scanned the workbench, in the long silence her attention soon drew back to Obi-Wan, whose body stilled as though struck by an epiphany. Finally he said, “I will.”

Something in the gentle way he said those words--a vow--made a flush warm her cheeks. She turned back to the table and had just found the knife when she saw he was looking at her from across the room. A furrow between his brows. Her face grew hotter as she realized she'd been caught eavesdropping on him, even if the conversation had only been with himself. Then she saw that his gaze was on the knife in her hand. Her fingers tightened around the handle.

"Don't," he said.

Sabé's heart pounded against her ribcage. Was _that_ what he'd been debating? Whether she'd harm him? It hurt that he still didn't trust her, or the soundness of her mind, but then what could he think? She _had_ woken up believing she was being attacked by a prison guard.

With her empty hand, she gestured to the wall behind her.

"I just...The days…"

"Yes, I know." Obi-Wan moved toward her, bringing the circle of light with him. "I wish you wouldn't. I don't feel the need to mark time anymore. Not that way."

With a nod, she set the knife back down and tried to slow the hammering of her heart. But the way he’d embraced her when he’d returned...surely he’d felt it, too? That this was now a home? Their home?

_Kriff_. Here she was, a grown woman, but as unable to interpret the male sex as though she were a naive teenager. Dayne Starfall probably had a better sense of it than she did. Should one just bluntly ask a man about these things?

She opened her mouth, but what came out was, “Who were you talking to just now?”

The blue eyes flickered from her own, as if to a third person. But of course there was no one there. Again that look of listening to someone. Was it a trick of the lantern light, or was he...flushed?

"Surely those aren't my only two options," he muttered. "No, I can't think of any."

Sabé felt her brows draw together, her gaze narrow. She’d seen madmen ranting in the middle of bustling cities, starting brawls with strangers in bars, huddled in small rooms in asylums. None of them acted like this, so rational, so calm, able to transfer attention from the unreal to the real as easily as...well, as shifting their attention during a conversation.

“I don’t know quite how to say this without seeming insane,” Obi-Wan said, “so I’ll just come right out with it.”

Nevertheless he paused as though he hoped she might change her mind and take back the question. She raised her eyebrows.

“I’ve been talking with Qui-Gon Jinn. He’s...well, he’s like a...ghost. Now.” Obi-Wan coughed into his fist.

“That does sound crazy.”

“I’m aware. I’ve just said that.”

Sabé stood and waited for the punch line. When none was forthcoming, she said, “You’re serious.”

“Quite.”

She inhaled to scoff, but Obi-Wan’s face was so earnest, and embarrassed, that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she looked around the cellar.

“Is he here right now?” _For stars’ sake, you’re asking a madman where he keeps his ghost_.

Obi-Wan’s flush deepened. Crossing his arms over his torso, he shut his eyes and nodded.

She took another moment. But no, she couldn’t process that, either.

“Where?” she asked for lack of anything else to say.

Without opening his eyes, he jerked a thumb to his left. After a moment, his eyes flew open and stared up at his supposed ghost--a tall one, Sabé reflected, but then, Qui-Gon had been tall--while his face wrinkled in indignation. “No, I will not say that to her.”

“What?”

“Never you mind.” Finally, Obi-Wan looked at her. "You don't believe me, do you?"

That sounded so strong. She _wanted_ to believe him. She didn't pretend to understand the ways of the Force. But...ghosts? That was simply too much, even accounting for Jedi oddities.

"I'm...skeptical," she said.

He gave a wan smile. "I appreciate your tact."

"Is there any way to prove it? Presumably he can't show himself to me?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "He couldn't even show himself to _me_ until I'd spent months learning to commune with him in the Force."

Months alone in the desert, meditating beneath two blazing suns until he hallucinated his old Master.

Sabé watched his face shift in reaction to what she was supposed to accept was the ghost of Qui-Gon Jinn speaking to him. His eyebrows shot up. "You _did_? And you're only telling me this now? Oh, never mind. Sabé?"

She blinked at his address.

"Did you see him during your fever?"

During her…?

"When I tended you," Obi-Wan prompted. His attention flickered back and forth between listening and speaking, as if he were interpreting a foreign language for her. "Qui-Gon says you were near death, and not to be cliché, but that was when you saw him. You needn't be so blunt, Master." In the pause, a half-grin appeared. "No, no one ever would have called you The Negotiator."

Sabé's legs would no longer support her. She sank onto the rug.

Obi-Wan continued to talk over his shoulder. “You told her, _There is no death_ \--’”

“ _There is only the Force_ ,” Sabé completed.

His head whipped toward her, and he came to his knees at once, hands near but not touching her. “Yes. Yes.” He nodded, eyes bright. She stared into his face as though it were a lifeline. “Exactly.”

“I saw him,” she said. “I thought it was a dream, but I _saw_ him.”

Obi-Wan was still nodding, and his eyes welled up. “You did.”

“He--” Now she was in danger of crying. She swallowed. “He helped me come back to you.”

A tear spilled from Obi-Wan’s eye. He wiped it away. “He never told me.” He glanced around. “He’s gone now.” He sat down fully on the floor, knee to knee with Sabé. Under his breath he said, “He should’ve told me.”

Sabé didn't know quite what to say to that, but he didn't seem to expect her to say anything. He drifted, into his own thoughts, rather than into a silent conversation, and she watched the emotion on his face give way to happiness.

"I'm glad you've seen him, too," he said. "Even if it was just the once. I'm not the only one."

_The only one_ had several meanings with respect to Obi-Wan. After a moment's hesitation, she reached out and placed her palm on his knee, as he'd comforted her earlier.

"I'm glad, too."

~*~

She shouldn't stare. If she were trying to meditate, she'd find it very distracting to have someone staring at her. Since she learned a ghost was a sometimes resident of the hut, she found herself imagining the feeling of being watched. Or at least wondering if that presence were lurking about. Then again, Obi-Wan didn't seem the slightest bit conscious of the tempest that raged beyond the synstone walls of the house, now in its second day with no sign of relenting, so perhaps he wasn't aware of Sabé's eyes on him.

There was nothing else for her to do but watch him. Literally, nothing. And she'd thought she'd been bored when he was away.

So she hugged her knees to her chest, leaned against the curving alcove of the bed, and gazed at him. Tried not to focus on the way his trousers hiked up above his ankles as he sat cross-legged on the bantha hair rug, or the long fingers curled over his knees, the shape of his forearms beneath rolled-up sleeves. Instead thought about how still and serene he looked, not a muscle tensed.

Needless to say, the revelation that Darth Vader had been Anakin Skywalker had shaken her so utterly that she found herself barely able to _think_ of it, much less ask Obi-Wan about it--not that he would want to discuss it. He’d had two years to meditate on the loss of his friend, his Padawan...but how could one ever make peace with a betrayal that complete? Did he blame himself? Had the Jedi known what Anakin truly was? Had they tried to reshape him, as the winds reshaped the landscape here?

When had they given up on him?

A maelstrom of thought scoured the edges of her mind. Padmé had spent more time with Anakin than Sabé ever had. She must have known something was wrong with him. Was that why Vader wanted the Handmaidens, why her thoughts had returned to Padmé again and again as though he’d steered them there?

It was all too much. Sabé buried her face her in hands and breathed until she felt a little calmer. A sensation not unlike what she felt whenever Obi-Wan offered his reassuring words, touches, smiles.

When she lowered her hands, the lantern on the bedside table began to flicker. Its battery wouldn't last much longer. They still had the spare in the hall, but then what?

She returned her attention to the man in front of her. His serenity was so immersive that chill bumps rose on the back of her neck as she watched him. Assuming his pose, she rested her hands on her knees...but found that she couldn’t force her eyes shut. She wanted to keep looking. His golden hair falling in loose waves around his jaw. His brow, smooth in contemplation. His lips slightly parted as he breathed.

At times the winds screamed around the house so violently that she thought they would pick it up and send it tumbling across the sands like a detached vaporator. It felt like that now, and she had the wild thought that Obi-Wan was the only thing holding the place down.

The lamp flickered and shut off.

In the pitch black, over the thudding of her heart, Sabé tried to picture Obi-Wan across from her, holding everything together, holding _her_ together. It was a ridiculous thought, but it helped her to crawl from the bed and feel her way toward the hall, where she switched on the second lantern and returned it to the living room.

Obi-Wan had not moved.

She spoke his name into the roar. He didn't hear. She could hardly hear herself. And it was just as well, for she didn't want to interrupt him just because she was a little shaken by what was no doubt a routine sandstorm. For the hundredth time, his overheard conversation with Qui-Gon's ghost replayed in her mind. _What would it do to her if things get bad? This is the last place she'll feel safe._

Of course she felt safe. There could be nowhere safer than where he was. It couldn't be bad, could it, or he wouldn't be sitting there so serene?

And he was wrong about the house being like a prison, she thought with a grim smile. More like a tomb.

But they weren't dead. Obi-Wan had called her back, the ghost of his Master had showed her the way. It had to be for a reason, not just so they could die together in a sandstorm. Although if they were to die, better together than alone.

Sabé exhaled. She'd feel more alive if she could hear the sound of her own breath. For another moment she watched the steady rise and fall of Obi-Wan's chest beneath his shirt, imagined the steady puff of his breath on her forehead, ruffling her hair, as they slept. Lantern in hand, she turned and scuffed over the gritty floor to the kitchen. Nothing like a bracing cup of tea to prove oneself alive.

Setting the lantern on the counter next to her, she took the empty kettle off the stove and thanked her stars again for the working gas range. More importantly, the plumbing still functioned.

At least, it had. She turned the tap, but no water rushed from the faucet. The pipes emitted a bellow that sounded like a dying animal, and juddered. Sabé screwed the tap shut again, and the sound stopped.

It had been loud enough to draw Obi-Wan from his meditative state. Sabé turned and saw his white-clad form moving toward her like a ghost in the dark.

He went past her toward the ‘fresher, presumably to try the sink, and reemerged shaking his head. Sabé grabbed the lantern and led the way to the basement to check the reservoir.

Beside the tank, her bare foot touched water.

Not a lot, but enough to make her fear spike. It was quieter down here, but still not silent enough to hear running water. Besides, her ears rang from two days of roaring wind.

Now Obi-Wan was next to her, his face grim as he went behind the cistern and felt around it as he’d done the day before. He pressed himself into the wall to run his fingers behind the steel container, then his eyes closed in frustration. When he brought his hand out, Sabé saw under the yellow lantern light the sheen of water droplets on his fingertips.

“It was fine yesterday,” he said. “Of all the times…”

He rapped on the belly of the reservoir and worked his way up to the top. A much lower sound emanated than the one she’d heard yesterday. They’d lost most of their water in the night; it had probably seeped through the duracrete into the foundation beneath.

“Do you have a soldering iron?” Sabé asked.

“I do, but I doubt I doubt it’s charged up. Not sure we could reach back there, anyhow.  I’ll have to use the Force. Save what little we’ve got left.”

Sabé stood back and watched as Obi-Wan reached behind the cistern again to find the leak. He closed his eyes and stilled, and within a few seconds she thought she heard a metallic groan. His eyes fluttered open.

“Hand me a rag, will you, please?”

She did, and he used it to dry the area and feel again.

“All right. It’s fixed,” he announced. “For what that’s worth.”

"Did Qui-Gon teach you that? The plumbing portion of a Jedi apprenticeship?"

Obi-Wan gave a snort. "You learn all sorts on missions."

He shimmied out from the cistern's niche, and as he stepped into the circle of light emanating from her lantern, Sabé saw that the front of his shirt was streaked with grime. It might be dank down here, but it was cooler than upstairs, and they could hear each other.

"How many days' water would you guess we have?" she asked.

"Two. Maybe three. If we really ration."

"The storm can't last that long, can it?"

"If we get the water from the toilet tank, we'll have extra. The bristlemelons will help keep us hydrated."

“You didn’t answer my question.”

A small smile didn’t hide his sigh. “These storms can last two weeks or longer. They don’t usually, but…”

“Thank you.” Sabé hesitated, then added, "I know you're trying to protect me, but I can't face what I don't know. That was the worst part of being in prison."

The shadows thrown by her lantern made it difficult to discern the subtle shifting of his expression, but she sensed it regardless as his fingers brushed her elbow.

Her heart missed a beat, then stuttered back to rhythm. "Will Nagpal be all right?"

She expected him to reply that eopies were desert animals, and therefore accustomed to requiring very little water. Instead, his eyelids fluttered closed; his presence seemed to drift from her, as it did when he meditated.

"He was distressed," Obi-Wan said when he opened his eyes again. "But I've calmed him a little."

With the Force? Was that how she'd felt reassured, too? Again the idea of Obi-Wan holding everything together flashed through her mind. But who would hold _him_ together?

“Come upstairs,” he said, moving past her toward the steps.

Once there, he instructed her to turn off the humidifier to preserve as much reservoir water as possible, while he went to the ‘fresher to ladle fresh water from the toilet tank into the tea kettle and an earthenware pitcher. It wasn’t much, but every bit would help, if it came down to it. And if it did, a non-flushing toilet would be the least of their troubles.

After Sabé shut off the humidifier, she rotated to face the bed. Hands on hips, she turned and was about to tell Obi-Wan that they should carry the bedding to the cellar. But when she looked he was already coming toward her, and he grabbed the pillows, returning to the basement without a word.

A smile ghosted her cheeks as she peeled back the coverlet and sheets, scattering sand. She met him on his way back up, and he took them from her and put them with the pillows, then together they wrangled the mattress through the cellar door and down the stairs as though it were a writhing grakkt.

"What's the longest sandstorm you've waited out?" she asked as they knelt to remake the bed atop the rug.

"I...You know, I'm not really sure," he replied, a look of genuine uncertainty crossing his face in the lamplight.

Sabé's gaze flickered to the marks on the wall at the foot of the stairs, though of course it was only darkness, the light not reaching beyond their rectangular patch. It was almost as if they were floating aboard a tiny raft on a dark ocean at night.

"I guess you would lose track of time. But how did you ration?"

"I didn't have to. There's a form of meditation called the Hibernation Trance, which slows the metabolism. I can go a week without water if I need to."

They paused smoothing and dusting sand off the blanket to stare at each other from opposite sides of the mattress. With his gaze intent upon her, she knew he would do that for her if it became necessary. The thought of being essentially alone in order to survive was not, however, an appealing one. Of him depriving himself for her sake.

A bridge they could cross when they came to it.

"As a kid this would've been a big adventure to me," she said, lowering herself to sit on the bed, the lantern between their two sides. "Camping out in a basement during a storm."

Obi-Wan bent to take a bristlemelon out of one of the bins, and the side of his face lit by the lamp revealed a dimple in his cheek. "Oh, the places I've camped…"

"With Qui-Gon?"

“Hmm,” he nodded. His face darkened, his unspoken _and with Anakin_ wrenching her gut.

“Tell me more about your Master,” she prompted. “I didn’t know him well, but I liked him.” Breath catching, she added, "Padmé spoke fondly of him."

Obi-Wan took the lantern and went to his work table to burn the spines off the melon with a small gas-powered blowtorch. “The feelings were mutual,” he said, his back to her. “Qui-Gon held her in the highest esteem. Particularly after she’d successfully fooled him for so long. So had you.” He turned his head to dart a glance backward to her.

Sabé laughed, cheeks warming at the compliment. “He wasn’t one to hold a grudge, then?”

“Not at all. In fact he was amused--and seized the opportunity to use it as a lesson in humility. We weren't as clever as we believed ourselves to be.”

Something in his tone made her suspect that by _we_ he meant _himself._ She smiled at the memory of that very prim Jedi Padawan she'd been stranded with.

“How do you know when he’s present? Is he here now?”

He glanced to his right, but she couldn’t see his face as he sliced the melon. “Oh, yes,” he said, gesturing with his knife. “He’s right over there.”

She stared, but of course saw nothing but the dim recess where the laundry unit stood. A thought flickered through her mind that they'd have a lot of washing to do when the storm finally ended. Then she held up her hand, curled her fingers in a slight wave in the direction Obi-Wan had indicated, and said, "Hello."

Instantly she felt a fool, and she was glad Obi-Wan couldn't see her scarlet face in the dark as she whipped her head toward him. "You're pulling my leg. There's no one there."

"I'd never! He waved back."

Sabé raised an eyebrow, even as she second-guessed her skepticism. He'd sounded genuinely offended at the suggestion that he wasn't being completely honest.

"He says to tell you he's very sorry you can't hear him, because he's certain I'll leave out all the most embarrassing bits about myself." Obi-Wan's gaze shifted from her back to the place where he'd indicated the ghost hovered. "Well, she _did_ say she wants to hear about _you,_ Master."

Was he joking, or was he mad? Or _was_ a ghost there?

Obi-Wan huffed out a sigh. Turning, he lay his knife on the workbench behind him and rubbed his finger over his mustache, a motion she could scarcely see in silhouette. "How to prove it to her…" he muttered into his hand. "What are you doing?"

The question was addressed to the ghost who, if Obi-Wan's gaze was tracking him, had moved toward the workbench. When Obi-Wan turned his head, tilting it slightly upward as if to look up at a taller figure beside him, the lantern rose into the air, as if an invisible hand lifted it. Then it floated across the cellar to Sabé, where it hovered just near enough that she could reach out her hand and take it.

"I feel I ought to say thank you," she said, feeling a slight, invisible tug as she pulled the lantern toward her and set it down, "though I'm fairly certain this is all an elaborate prank."

Obi-Wan's laugh drifted to her across the cellar, making it seem brighter, somehow. "Still not as clever as I think I am."

He stepped into the circle of lamplight, holding the two halves of the bristlemelon. When he sat, lowering himself onto the blanket and crossing his legs in a fluid movement, he held out one to her, and she saw that he’d scored the fruit so that it could fan open, negating the need for cutlery. She took it from him and a sweet, smoky scent filled her nostrils--the burning of the spines, while necessary preparation for cutting, intensified the sugary flavor even as the smokiness took her back to campfires by Lake Varum with her parents and friends.

Sabé bit into the succulent fruit, and when her eyes fluttered open, she found Obi-Wan watching her with a raw expression that was becoming more familiar to her by the hour. She dared not name it, or her own feelings. She tried to focus on the tangy sweetness in her mouth, but all she could think of was how blue his eyes were, and what she thought she saw behind them.

Her breath returned when finally he began to eat his melon, but then--realizing she was still staring--she had to look away from his lips. She needed to fill this silence with something, anything.

“So when _does_ Qui-Gon show up?”

“You don’t think me mad anymore?” His eyes glimmered, and she knew he was about to smile.

When he did, she couldn’t stop her own. “Well, that would be the pot calling the kettle black, since I saw him, too.”

“He comes when I summon him,” Obi-Wan said, “but lest you feel too comforted by that, sometimes I do it without meaning to.”

Understandable, given his isolation and the close bond a Master and Apprentice must form. "It must be a great comfort to _you_ , though."

Obi-Wan nodded, his only response for a moment as he chewed. Swallowing, he said, "I fear Crazy Ben wouldn't be only an act if I hadn't learned to commune with him."

"Tell me about that." Sabé hoped the oblique reference to his Master's death didn't wound him.

"For a Jedi, death means becoming one with the Force. Qui-Gon discovered a way to deny the will of the Force, to retain his own unique presence." A smile formed again. "Which is exactly how he lived."

“Is he...happy?”

Obi-Wan looked at her. “Yes.” His smile turned wry. “Though I think he still worries about me. Once a Padawan, always a Padawan. Before you came along, he nagged me incessantly about my eating habits.”

Juice dribbled as Sabé bit into the tender flesh of the melon. She wiped it away with her fingertips and said around her mouthful, "No wonder he wanted me to stay."

"Indeed. Although I think it's as much that he misses eating as he's concerned for my well-being," Obi-Wan said. "Qui-Gon was always adventuresome when it came to food. When we were on missions, he insisted on trying the local cuisine, no matter how appalling it might be to humans. In some cases, the more unappetizing, the better. He seemed to know every greasy spoon in the Galaxy. And every cantina. He taught me to drink, you know."

“Taught you--” Sabé was confused until she saw the waggle of his eyebrows. “Oh. He did?”

“Very much so.”

The lantern flickered out and was followed by the faint clicking sound of the metal lamp cooling off.

“I think,” said Sabé, “that Qui-Gon is punishing you for impersonating him a while ago.”

Obi-Wan’s laughter filled the darkness, and Sabé’s joined with it. Her joke really wasn't even that funny; nevertheless she was rolling onto her side while still balancing the fruit juices in the rind as she cackled with abandon. Obi-Wan, too, she discovered with relief whenever she was able to take a breath. At one point they were both rendered breathless and merely shook silently until they drew their next gulps of air and the shrieks burst forth anew. Crazy Ben and Mad Sabé, two nerve burners drowning in tears of laughter.

Better than tears of sorrow.

It was the stress, of course. Days, weeks, months, years of it, building up like water against a dam before exploding. And as their laughter gradually receded, that familiar panic welled in its place. The last light had gone out, and they were trapped in the dark for stars only knew how long…

Beside her, Obi-Wan sat up, then stood. Sabé grasped for his sleeve, but the fabric slipped through her fingers as if he had no solid form.

His hand curled over her shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze as he eased the fruit rind from her fingers. "I'm just going to the workbench. No further."

She nodded, held her breath so she could hear the soles of his feet on the floor, the sound of their two melon rinds being set on the table with a soft _thump_ , and then...nothing.

Sabé sat up, heart pounding. She wanted to call out his name, but he was _right there_ , she knew it. Even if she couldn’t see him, she felt his presence.

A tiny glow, but when her eyes darted toward it, it disappeared. Most likely her eyes trying to adjust to the utter blackness of the windowless cellar. But then it happened again, and again. Each time she blinked, trying to _see_ what she couldn’t see, and each time the elusive vision winked out.

Until she saw them. All at once, hundreds, thousands of little lights against the back wall, like stars in the blanket of night.

Except for the silhouette of a man, arms raised, the conductor of this symphony of light.

_I love you_. A silent verse in the chorus.

She knew before he came back to her that he must have activated some bioluminescent bacteria in the packed earth. When they settled under the covers together, he whispered, “There’s life everywhere, if you know where to look for it.”

He took her hand in his, and they drifted away, led on a current that reflected the night sky. Or perhaps it carried them down below, to an underwater city. Not a sunken civilization, but a thriving one. She'd never been to Otoh Gunga before, though it was a world within her own; Obi-Wan had. They swam together toward the globes of light, then down further until the lights shone on their faces from above. Warming the fertile soil of the ocean floor. It blanketed her legs, burying her.

A dark-haired child clutching a small spade covered her in the earth, as she and her friends had buried each other on the endless summer days by the lakeshore. This child looked so familiar, yet she was sure she'd never seen him before in her life. Green plants sprouted up around her, weaving and waving amongst the rays of sunlight, the glint of the boy’s blue eyes as he nodded in approval. _This was his will, and as he wills it, so it shall be_.

When Sabé emerged from the earth, the trees had grown and hung heavy with fruit. Obi-Wan plucked a purple and white striped one from a branch and brought it to her. Keeping her eyes on his, she wrapped her fingers around the hand that held the offering and sank her teeth in deep.

Never had she tasted such delight. Lips and tongue danced around it, rejoiced, worshipped, as though she’d never before eaten. Her entire being devoted itself to this kiss.

For it was lips she met, and a tongue she tasted. The scratch of a mustache on her mouth and a beard on her chin only perfected the sensation, as did the hipbone under her grasping hand, the fingers she felt splayed against her jaw and sliding into the nape of her neck. Deeper, deeper she went, and lower the fingers trailed until they found her breast. She pulled the hip toward her. _There_. Heat. Pressure. She wanted more of it, brought her knee over the hipbone, and the fingers grasped her hip and tugged, closer. More.

But when she angled her head to press her mouth harder against his, it wasn't there. The warmth of his breath was.

Sabé's eyes flew open to meet Obi-Wan's, blue and unblinking as they had been in the dream. She wasn't dreaming anymore, and the kiss hadn't only occurred in the dream. His hand _was_ on her hip, her leg slung over his.

Their bodies, it seemed, had acted on their desires whether their minds agreed to it or not. Now a choice lay before them. Between them. A matter of inches. A single tilt of their heads.

At the same moment, they made it. Lips brushed, so soft and sweet, and not only from the bristlemelon juice. Her first kiss--how had she lived her life without the knowledge of how a man's lips felt on hers? Yet she was so glad they were _his._

Obi-Wan’s fingers found her jaw again, but this time with intention, and her eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her over and over again. She opened them to find him watching her. He pulled back just an inch.

“It’s daylight,” he whispered.

She didn’t know whether to feel disgruntled for his ending the kiss, or confused that he would point out the obvious. Then she realized.

The sandstorm had stopped. Upstairs, the windows were no longer coated in dust. A shaft of sunlight angled from the side door down into the cellar where they lay.

A faint vibration and buzzing sound emanated from the living room.

“Mari’s comlink,” said Sabé. “They’re checking on us.”

Rising as one, they marched upstairs. Sabé rushed to the table near the front door and switched on the comlink.

“It's Sabé,” she said, breathless, into the device.

“Oh, you’re safe!” came Mari’s voice. “Ben?”

“He’s here, too." Sabé's eyes followed him as he peered with a frown out of each window. “We’re fine. You?”

“All of us, thank the stars. We haven’t gone outside yet. Let us know if you need help with repairs and we’ll do the same.”

“We will. Thanks.” But Mari had already ended the connection.

Shoving the communicator into her pocket, Sabé pivoted to the door and grasped the handle.

"Sabé, wait, I haven't--"

She'd yanked on the handle, wrenched the heavy door, the groaning of the metal on its hinges drowning out his warning. She knew for herself what he'd been about to say as a wall of sand crumbled and poured inside, covering her feet and glittering in the morning light.

For a heartbeat she stood staring at it, then she turned sheepishly to face Obi-Wan, who regarded her from beneath arched eyebrows.

"You were going to--" She waved her hand.

"I was, yes."  He twitched his fingers, and she turned, expecting to see the sand flow back out the door.

Instead, she felt a nudge at her shoulder. The handle of the broom, which hovered just behind her.

"Qui-Gon says you'd better sweep that up."

Beneath his mustache, she saw the upturned corner of his mouth. She wanted to kiss him again.

Instead, she grabbed the broom. “Incorrigible,” she muttered.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're incredibly lucky to have such talented people reading this story. Please check out the [gorgeous graphics and fanmix](http://handmaiclen.tumblr.com/tagged/born-of-light) handmaiclen (emeraldcity) made on Tumblr!

In the end, Obi-Wan used the Force to evacuate the bulk of the sand just so they could get the door shut again while they tended to the more urgent tasks. They hurried outside to check on Nagpal, who was jittery and rather smelly but none the worse for his experience. He seemed relieved to be outside and grazing on natural turf, so Obi-Wan quickly cleaned up and refilled his troughs while Sabé went back indoors to sweep up. He watched her go, her hair whipping in the lingering breeze, and found himself quite unable to carry on for a few seconds.

After he’d finished and rubbed down Nagpal, he turned toward the vaporator. Closed his eyes and dove deep into the Force, for he needed to focus. Vaporator repairs couldn’t wait, whereas a man falling in love would just have to.

Walking around it so his back was to the suns, he raised his gaze and saw that the rod connecting the humidity sensor to the telemetry cone was twisted like a pepper pretzel. Even if he could bend it straight again without damaging the electrical components, the sensor he'd replaced only last month was missing altogether. Probably designed to come off at the first gust of desert wind.

But of course that wasn't true--not that Watto, who'd sold it to him, deserved the benefit of the doubt. Even top-of-the-line vaporators bowed to Tatooine's brutality--much like the galaxy's star systems to the Emperor. Owen Lars had told him once of storms that toppled entire vaporator fields.

Fortunately, nothing else on this unit seemed to be missing or broken, though of course he wouldn't know for certain until the patch-in droid ran diagnostics. And the droid currently formed a small sand dune beside the vaporator, its little solar panel poking out of the sand.   

He dug out the droid, which plugged itself in. While the droid took its readings, Obi-Wan cleared away the drifts from around the base of the water pump unit. On a whim he checked underneath and saw a small crop of mushrooms growing beneath it.

"There's life everywhere," he said to himself as he pushed back upright and dusted off his trousers, "if you know where to look for it."

Qui-Gon had told him so, on many occasions.

With that, his thoughts returned to last night and the multitude of hidden microscopic beings in his packed earth cellar wall, the light within them he’d shown Sabé, and the sense he'd had of love binding them all together. Even him. But of course what occupied him most was the life she’d shown _him_ , one he’d thought was spent.

It was not a life he’d imagined, and as such he had no idea what to do with it. Of course, if he were honest with himself, his current uncertainty mirrored that which he’d been maneuvering when Sabé had, quite literally, stumbled into his life.

 _This_ uncertainty, however, felt...hopeful.

He’d kissed a woman. No. He’d kissed _Sabé_. However it had happened--how _had_ it happened?--she’d returned his kisses willingly. He’d been dreaming of kissing her, and then suddenly he _was_. And it felt miraculous. Like being shrouded in love and lifted up, higher than he’d ever thought he could go.

Life, where he hadn’t thought to look for it.

He gathered the mushrooms, pocketing them one by one before he walked a circular path around the property to check the windows, walls, and roof of the hut. In vain, he looked for the errant moisture sensor.

He’d told her, before he’d left to see Luke, that they ought to spend some time thinking. Well, he had. Thought of her. When perhaps he should’ve talked himself _out_ of thinking of her. Was he afraid to ask her what _she’d_ thought of?

“The body doesn’t lie,” said Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan nodded. His certainly hadn’t.

He turned to look for his Master, but he was alone.

Continuing his appraisal, he found himself again on the northeast edge of the perimeter. Nagpal stood a few yards off, cropping some grass. The landscape was entirely unfamiliar now, the winds having shifted everything as an angry child might swipe toy soldiers from a tabletop. Obi-Wan felt the tug of his hut, for the centering of orientation, for the comfort of the known. He looked there--

And saw Sabé watching him. She’d come outside, presumably to shake the sand from the living room rug she held. When she realized he’d seen her, she gave the rug a vigorous snap and went inside again.

Obi-Wan stared at the darkness of the open door until she reappeared.

“Power’s still out,” she called, descending the steps to join him.

His heart pounded.

Swallowing, he turned toward the solar panels on the roof. A quarter-inch of silt coated the angled surfaces. He should’ve taken care of this first. With the wave of a hand, the sand sailed away.

He darted a glance at Sabé, who watched him with glimmering eyes. He shrugged, and had to look away when she rewarded him with a flash of her dimples.

"The backup generator should kick in pretty soon," Obi-Wan heard himself say.

"One of the perks of binary suns."

"Quite."

The conversation seemed so stilted now. It had been so easy last night in the dark of the cellar. Was this what kissing did to people?

"Will we be able to use the laundry unit?" she asked.  

"And the sonic shower." He resisted the urge to sniff his armpit; after three days, he likely smelled only slightly less ripe than Napal.

"No point in that till we've cleaned everything else," Sabé said. Her eyes drifted over his shoulder. "How's the vaporator?"

Obi-Wan shook his head and rubbed his mustache. "We'll have to make a trip to Mos Espa sooner than expected."

"Lucky we emptied the toilet tank, then." Her eyes met his again, darkening as she added, more quietly, "We were lucky all around, weren't we?"

He didn't believe in luck, but Obi-Wan didn't argue that point. For a moment they merely looked at each other, and he saw again the familiarity of the lone survivor in her. But she was alone no longer. They'd survived _together_ , the experience drawing them closer than they had been before.

In the literal sense, as well as the emotional. He thought of how he'd awoken, hand on her hip, pressing her to him. Now he couldn't help but notice how lovely she was in the morning light, even unshowered and disheveled. He was drawn to her. Although the feeling seemed to be mutual, he nevertheless felt compelled to address what had happened between them before he acted.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped. If that wasn't what you wanted."

She shook her head, the waves of her hair bouncing around her chin. A curl stuck in the perspiration near the corner of her mouth; Obi-Wan's fingers twitched to brush it free. He curled them into his palm and held it fast at his side.

"It's okay," Sabé said. "I wanted it."

She smiled, like the unfurling of a blossom, and it spread across her face and revealed her teeth as Obi-Wan felt his own grin mirror it, cheek muscles too long out of use aching. Had he _ever_ smiled like this?

"I wanted it, too."

No longer able to deny the impulse, he reached out and brushed the lock of hair away. It curled around his finger as he traced the curve of her lip. _He'd kissed her_.

"I...want to kiss you again," he said.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. She nodded and said, "Yes," even though he hadn't technically asked.

Obi-Wan's fingers found her chin, lifting it even as she tilted her face up to him. He hovered for a moment, drew a shaky breath, admonishing himself for this bout of nerves when this wouldn't be the first time he'd kissed her. It would be the first time he'd _meant_ to, though.

Before he could overthink it as he had the other day, he bent his head and brushed his lips over Sabé's. She placed one hand against his chest, and it was as if her touch physically pushed every thought from him but how soft her mouth was, her skin as his hands cupped her face. Heat flared beneath his fingertips, and he drew back to see color spreading across her cheeks which had nothing to do with the twin suns. A flush prickled over his own skin as he basked in the warmth of her gaze.

When they lowered their hands, his brain began to form coherent thoughts once more, enough for him to speak.

"We should probably talk."

"Probably," Sabé agreed. "But not right this second. We've got a lot to do, and all the time in the world to talk."

At that, Obi-Wan snorted. "Don't I know it."

They had a new activity to fill the long march of hours.

But now it was time to saddle up poor Nagpal and head to Mos Espa before someone else bought the part they needed. He asked Sabé to cobble together whatever food and water she could for the trip--they could purchase more in town, though it would come dear in the wake of the storm--while he attempted to straighten the telemetry rod. She’d just turned for the house when the comlink in her pocket buzzed.

Obi-Wan paused as she answered. This time, Sim Starfall's voice crackled over the speaker, asking whether they'd had time to assess their damage.

"Come here instead," he said when Sabé told him they were on their way to town. "Mos Espa'll be overrun like it's the Boonta Eve Classic, and I've got vaporators down and sheds in a state. I'll trade you a sensor for extra pairs of hands."

"And muffins!" Mari's voice chirped.

Sabé looked to Obi-Wan.

"How can we turn down an offer like that?" he said. The journey would take half the time it would to get to Mos Espa, in addition to not having to deal with Watto.

"You can't," Sim said. "Not these muffins."

They readied the saddlebags as quickly as they could, gave the house another once-over to make sure nothing required immediate attention, and after Obi-Wan reached out again to feel whether all was well with Luke, sensing only the boy's contentment as another day began at his aunt and uncle's farm, they set out. Showers could wait.

Obi-Wan had to pay careful attention to the curve of the mountains in the south, for the landscape had changed so drastically that Nagpal, following dunes he thought he recognized, might have led them farther north. He had to draw his mind back to the rocky outcroppings as often as he pulled the eopie’s reins, for Sabé’s body flush against his back and her hands wrapped tightly around his waist made it difficult. He pressed his hand over hers, thrilled by the touch, reeling in the knowledge that Sabé wanted it, too.

They rode on, the loping of their mount over the unfamiliar path forcing them to keep their thighs snug against the saddle for stability.

Obi-Wan sensed something ahead and stood in the stirrups to try to see, but there was nothing. Not yet, anyhow. Sabé unslung her rifle and held it at the ready. He’d left his saber at home, lest curious children start rummaging through bags, and he was grateful for her weapon.

An angular shape knifed through the sky above a dune, cutting a larger rust patch in the blue backdrop as Nagpal carried them nearer up the rise. The contrast of the colors was as sharp as the angle, a deep and bleeding wound. An ominous image, to be sure, and the spike of fear he sensed in his companion was understandable, though the situation was not, in fact, as serious as it appeared.   

"That wasn't here before," Sabé murmured as he pulled on Nagpal's rein, slowing him. "What is it?...Some sort of vehicle?"

"A sandcrawler." Obi-Wan slid down from the saddle and looked up at her. "Ready to meet the Jawas?"

She cocked her rifle, eyes narrowing as she scanned the horizon. He chuckled, and her gaze darted downward, as if she thought him mad.

"Oh, you won't be needing that. They're afraid of the Wizard of the Wastes."

An eyebrow went up. "That's a bit more imposing than Crazy Ben."

He turned and trudged ahead, up the rise, while Sabé rode a short distance after him. Once he crested the hill, he waited for her.

A speeder was half-buried in a dune, nearly vertical, like the flag of an explorer. The rider--or riders--were nowhere to be seen. Either they’d been thrown during the wreck, or they’d managed to crawl out. Either way, the storm had killed them. The speeder itself could've been carried halfway across the desert.

Seven Jawas clanked and yanked as they removed every bit of sellable scrap and gadgetry from the vehicle. Speeder parts were always in demand. Before long, this one would be little more than a metallic skeleton. Over time, it would either rust away or become submerged in the shifting sands.

When Sabé reached him, Nagpal bleated and tried to back away. Obi-Wan rested a hand on his neck to calm him. At the sound, one of the Jawas looked up. Seeing Obi-Wan, it immediately chattered a warning to its companions. One by one, hooded heads rose from their work and turned glowing yellow eyes toward the visitors.

“Hello there,” said Obi-Wan as he lowered his own hood.

An uncoordinated chorus of high-pitched shrieks and chirrups echoed from one Jawa to the next as they leapt from the landspeeder, stuffing what items they could into bags and onto makeshift sleds, and scurried toward the sandcrawler. All but one, who shuffled to the foot of the dune, placed a bundle at the edge of Obi-Wan's shadow, and then hobbled to catch up with his clan.

"What did you do to them?" asked Sabé after the boarding ramp of the sandcrawler had clanked shut behind the last one.

"Nothing," Obi-Wan replied.

"I mean, before. To make them so afraid of you."

"Nothing," he repeated. The sandcrawler engines started, a growl rumbling through the dunes like a krayt dragon, temporarily drowning out all other sound. He pulled up his hood and glanced back to see Sabé adjusting her scarf over her face as the gigantic treads threw up clouds of sand. He raised his hand, propelling it after the vehicle as it rolled away.

"Except maybe that?" Sabé said when it had moved far enough that they could be heard over the drone.

Obi-Wan grinned as he took the reins to lead Nagpal down the hill. "Let's see what offering they've left me this time."

"They leave you offerings." Sabé slid down from the saddle to walk beside him. She stumbled a little in the uneven drifts, and Obi-Wan caught her elbow to keep her from falling.

"Mostly just junk. Although occasionally it'll be something use--" He'd bent to pick up the bag the scavenger had left, and was surprised by the heft of it. He looked inside. "Well, my stars. We've hit the jackpot today."

The wind caught the end of Sabé's scarf, ruffling it against him as she leaned in for a better look, then looked up at him. "Is that a repulsorlift?"

"Indeed it is."

"What'll we do with it? Strap it to Nagpal's saddle and make everyone _know_ we're mad?"

Obi-Wan laughed out loud at the image of a levitating eopie. “Fortunately, I know a family that could use this. Though they may think we’re mad for not selling it.”

Her eyes seemed to contain a universe of stars as she gazed at him, and that sensation of connectedness-- _of love--_ flooded through him again.

They darkened again when she turned to survey what remained of the speeder in the sand, and he felt his smile drop. "What about whoever owned this? Should we…?"

He sighed. Closing his eyes, he cast out for their remains, but found nothing. Nothing recent, anyhow, for death was everywhere, here.

“You’re right,” he said, opening his eyes to find Sabé watching him intently. “We should say a blessing over them, wherever they are.”

Together, they trudged the short distance across the valley to the upended speeder. Obi-Wan placed a hand on its side, ignoring the searing heat of the metal growing hot under the suns. Three strangers, a family perhaps, though he couldn’t see them--but they were together. Had been together. A wink of existence followed by eternal sleep.

He felt it when Sabé joined him and reached out his hand. She took it.

“You are one with the Force, and the Force is with you,” he said, and the words flew into the palms of his hands, through Sabé, the speeder, into the wind that whipped around them. Somewhere, they would find their resting place.

When he looked at her, he was surprised to see tears on her cheeks. He wanted to wipe them away, but his hands were dusty. She used the end of her scarf, and Obi-Wan glanced away to give her a moment to compose herself. He saw Nagpal nosing in the sand for some plant he'd sniffed out.

"We may as well eat," Obi-Wan suggested, "since we're stopped anyway."

Nodding, Sabé retrieved the saddlebag, then settled on the shaded side of the speeder wreck. A rather morbid site for a picnic, like sitting under a tombstone, Obi-Wan thought, lowering himself onto the ground beside her. The patch of shade wasn't wide, so he had to sit close, but she didn't move away from him, her shoulder brushing against his arm as she unpacked pallies, potatoes seasoned with garlic, sliced peppers and dried snake. Not a bad meal, considering their choices had been severely limited by the storm. They'd be able to have fresh meat again, now the refrigeration unit was back in commission. Perhaps Sabé would shoot another sandhawk on the way home. Jawas wouldn't be the only scavengers out today.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Sabé swallowed and stared off into the distance. It wasn't an absent look, the furrow in her brow and the firmness of her jaw told him she was thinking of something very specific.

Up until now, Obi-Wan had not wanted to pry, not when he knew how fiercely she was guarding her secrets. But with this new intimacy growing between them, having felt the whisper of her mouth against his, silence didn't seem right, either.

"Can you tell me?" he asked. "Who your tears were for?"

Sabé looked down at the salted snake in her hand as though considering whether to take a bite and avoid the question. Instead, she heaved a sigh and glanced at Obi-Wan before returning her gaze to the sun-bleached horizon.

“I told you there were three of us detained,” she began, blinking against tears, or sand. “Vader killed Moteé on Dathomir. Then he came for me. But a man named Saw Gerrera got a lead on the imprisoned Jedi and took it upon himself to come and free them. I doubt the Rebel Alliance knew about it.”

Obi-Wan nodded even as dread flooded him. “I knew him. That sounds like something he’d do.” The problem with Gerrera was that there wasn't much he _wouldn't_ do.

Sabé darted a look of surprise at him. “He brought starfighters, not knowing the Jedi had already been murdered. Many of his people lost their lives. He was injured--I found out later he’d lost a leg. In the confusion, Dormé and I escaped and made our way to the rescue starships--”

Her eyes went far away again, back to that time and place. “I’d just reached the gangway. She was running toward me--”

She had to stop again when her voice caught. As she swallowed and breathed, her fingers bent the strip of dried meat back and forth, but it was too tough to break. At length, she was able to go on.

"I didn't see where the Trooper came from. But I did see him gun her down. She was looking at me when she died. Reaching out for me."

The tears welled again, and fell before Sabé could blink them back. This time, Obi-Wan wiped his hand on his robe and rubbed them away for her. Her lashes brushed his thumb as she closed her eyes, and she leaned into him.

"They had no one to speak a blessing over them," she said. "No one to scatter their ashes."

Obi-Wan could only imagine what the Imperials did to their dead prisoners, how little respect their bodies were shown. He hadn't been immune to sorrow for the passengers of this speeder in whose shadow they now sat, and they had only been strangers. Although he hadn't known Dormé and Moteé as Sabé had, he couldn't receive this story of their tragic end dispassionately. What hurt Sabé hurt him.

It was a particular grief with which he was well acquainted. He'd packed it away years ago, but it rose up to meet him now, as if it were a physical object in an old trunk he'd opened.

He didn't realize he was weeping until Sabé's fingers stroked his cheek. "Can you tell me?" she echoed his question to her.

"The Younglings," he choked out. "The initiates in the Temple créche, too young to be chosen as Padawans." Too young to be armed with anything but training sabers, though even proper blades wouldn't have defended them against a Sith Lord. "Anakin...Vader…He...” He couldn’t speak the words. The horror on Sabé's face told him he didn't have to. “I had to go after him, I couldn't stay and…"

Lay them to rest. Lie down to rest with them.

Sabé's hand cradled his face now, slid back into the fold of his hood, fingers raking through his hair as she drew him in so that his forehead was pressed to hers. The shudder of her breath was hot against his face, but more welcome than a cooling desert breeze. For so long he'd grieved alone. She had her own to bear, but they could share the weight of each other's.

"The Force is with them," she said. "They are one with the Force."

He pressed his cheek to hers, their tears mingling. For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan didn't want to be _one_ , and the Force didn't seem to be the end-all. He wanted to be a part of her, as she had already become a part of him.

The shadow shrunk as the twin suns climbed. Their appetites were gone even if the food wasn't, so they packed up and remounted Nagpal.

As Obi-Wan held out his hand to pull Sabé up behind him, she paused, piercing him with her gaze. "Those people in the speeder. It could've been you."

She was right. Now they were two. "I know."

~*~

“This...is.. _wizard_!” shouted Gunnar as he hopped up and down beside the repulsorlift Obi-Wan had just slid from the bag. “Wizard, wizard, wizard!”

Wulfric crouched down to run his hands over it, while Dayne and Tuva squatted opposite with open mouths.

“It’s too much,” said Mari, her eyes darting between Sabé and Obi-Wan. “We couldn’t--”

“You have a speeder,” said Sabé. “We don’t. I'm sure you can use a spare." At Mari's nod, she added, "Take it.”

“Do you have any idea how much you could get for this in the market?” asked Sim. He’d folded his arms across his torso, but a thumb dragged across his lower lip as he stared down at the object of the children’s attention. He wanted to keep the thing, Obi-Wan could tell.

“I don’t even know if it works,” he said. “We happened to scare off some Jawas as they were scavenging. Came straight here with it.”

“You...” Sim swallowed as he peered at Obi-Wan with head tilted and brows lowered. “You scared off some Jawas?”

“Erm.”

“He does a convincing krayt dragon imitation,” said Sabé. “Don’t ask.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at her, but quickly nodded. “It’s true.” He was still Crazy Ben, after all, except now he had a partner in the deception. The sparkle in her eyes made it hard to stop grinning.

“Ooh!” said Gunnar, now jumping next to Obi-Wan. “Do it! Do it!”

“Maybe later,” he said with a laugh.

“Teach me?”

“Perhaps. I believe at the moment your parents need some assistance with vaporators and eopie sheds?”

"Now I feel guilty asking you to do manual labor when you gave us this," said Sim as Obi-Wan deposited the repulsorlift in his arms.

"But you're giving us a moisture sensor," Sabé reminded him.

"Yeah, which Watto would sell you for the inflated price of seven druggats."

"He sold me the broken one for ten," Obi-Wan said. He winked at Gunnar. “I don’t like to haggle.”

"Let's go to the workshop and see if I can set you up with something a little higher quality," said Mari, and Obi-Wan went with her to one of the outbuildings, Wulfric and the youngest two scampering behind.

"If we strapped a repulsorlift to an eopie," asked Tuva, "would it fly?"

Sabé's laugh drifted across the yard to Obi-Wan even before he'd glanced back toward her.

"You know how they fart when they get scared," Wulfric said.

"That might add to the propulsion," Obi-Wan suggested, earning an approving laugh from the boy. Tuva and Gunnar started trading fart noises while Mari shushed them. He remembered Yoda laughing over his Younglings’ discovery that they could make those sounds. _Flows through you, the Force does_.

With the repulsorlift shelved and a new moisture sensor tucked away in Nagpal’s saddlebag, the next few hours passed in flurries of activity. Mari, Obi-Wan, and Wulfric got all but one of the vaporators working again: a soldering iron hadn’t done the trick on the telemetry rod and they’d left it for another day. But while the Starfalls went to fix one of the eopie’s roofs, Obi-Wan snuck back into the workshop and, using the Force, mended the broken rod.

Sabé, Dayne, Gunnar, and Tuva spent most of the afternoon sweeping and using the sandblower around the house, while Obi-Wan’s hands fairly itched to simply call on the Force and blow it all away himself. Fortunately, there was plenty of hard work to occupy him, alongside Sim, as they reattached two solar panels to the roof of the kitchen. By the time the suns lowered, the bright sky turning orange, Obi-Wan’s shirt stuck to his sweaty back and his hair to his neck. Sabé was similarly disheveled, but not as worse for the wear as he worried she might be after so much more exertion than she was accustomed to. In fact, she seemed energized by the chatter of Mari and her daughters, even if she didn't contribute as much to it as they did. He watched her for a few moments as they took a water break in the breezeway and caught frequent glimpses of dimples flashing and nose crinkling with her quiet laughter.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said Mari, who’d tied her hair up in a messy knot that was now decidedly messier after a long day. “It’s leftovers for dinner.”

“I am _famished_ ,” said Tuva, as her mother went inside. “I don’t care. I’ll eat a bantha.”

"I quite agree with you, Tuva," Obi-Wan said. "I might even eat two."

One of her eyebrows disappeared beneath her dark fringe. "That's hyperbole."

“It’s only hyperbole if I fail to eat two banthas. Watch me.”

At that, Tuva burst into a fit of giggles, which Gunnar echoed, even if he didn’t understand the word. Something pinched inside Obi-Wan’s chest. He grinned through it, and followed the children into the blessedly cool interior of the kitchen. Dayne was at the sink, washing her hands, while Mari heated leftover nerfherd’s pie in the warming unit. A bowl of green salad already sat on the counter. She gestured for Obi-Wan and Sabé to sit on the high stools against the wall.

"We smell like a band of Tuskens," Dayne complained, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "Can't we shower before dinner?"

As Wulfric came in, he made a show of sniffing his armpit. "I smell fine." He crossed behind Dayne, leaned in, then pulled a face, tongue out, and made gagging sounds. "You smell like the hind end of a dewback."

"Ugh, Wulfie!" she snapped the dishtowel at him as he passed, sniggering, but he darted out of the line of fire. "You're such a--"

"Yes, Dayne," said their father, who'd stopped on the doorstep to take off his boots, "you can have first shower-- _after_ our guests."

Dayne’s frown dissolved when Sabé said, “I’ll do your hair again.”

“Deal!”

“Ooh, mine? Mine?” asked Tuva as she scampered over to Sabé. “You did Mom and Dayne but not me!”

“Umm,” said Sabé, the skin between her eyebrows puckering as she contemplated. She ran her fingers through the sweaty, dark strands. “Your hair is shorter than mine, but I might be able to do a modified braid near the top?”

“Yes!” Tuva’s fist pumped the air and she ran to wash her hands.

“Anyone else?” She looked at Mari.

Mari flushed and darted a glance at Sim, who looked away, lips pursed in a smile. “Let’s see how much energy you have after dinner.”

"Did you give Ben that little bun?" asked Wulfric, whose teasing was, apparently, not restricted to his sister. Obi-Wan knew how to deal with boys like that.

"I wanted a new look," he replied, "and not all of us can pull off a bowl cut."

Wulfric's smirk remained fixed in place for just a moment, then slowly receded as he understood his insult had been returned with an insult. Rather than look duly offended, another grin appeared, and he wagged his finger conspiratorially at Obi-Wan before he turned, giving his hair a little toss out of his eyes, and went to wash his hands.

"I don't know," Sabé said, regarding Obi-Wan with her head tilted, an artist sizing up her canvas. "I could try giving you a bowl cut if you'd like."

Obi-Wan sorted. "I'll hide the scissors."

"The house isn't that big. I'd find them in no time. Anyway…Could it possibly be as bad as…?"

She trailed off, a grin slanting across her face slowly. Obi-Wan's brain was slow, too, and then as a wicked gleam lit her eyes, he understood what she meant.

He imagined his Padawan braid between her teeth.

"Don't remind me of my mis-styled youth," Obi-Wan said, as a flush bloomed hot over his cheeks. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling at her.

Or replaying the part of his dream where he tucked the braid into the top band of her underwear.

Sabé returned his grin, and as she did her wicked look transformed into something even hungrier. He’d gladly let her devour him if they were alone. Dimly, around the chatter of the younger kids, he had the sensation of being watched.

He looked around to find Mari and Sim scrutinizing them. Were they that transparent?

"Dayne's waiting for the shower," Sabé mumbled, sliding off her stool. "Where's your refresher?"

A tug at Obi-Wan's tunic drew his gaze to Gunnar, who'd sidled up to him.

"Can I help you?"

"Krayt dragon."


	14. Chapter 14

By the time Sabé had finished showering, Obi-Wan had shown Gunnar his best impression of a krayt dragon. But when he emerged from the ‘fresher, dressed in the spare clothes they’d stashed in the saddlebags to change into before dinner, Gunnar was still practicing and demanded more pointers. Thus they spent the next hour while the Starfalls took their sonic showers, until Sim had to hoist his youngest over his shoulder and carry him bodily to the ‘fresher.

The echoes of the krayt dragon sounded most impressive coming from the tiled shower, though they annoyed Tuva, who'd taken it upon herself to read to Obi-Wan from one of her schoolbooks. "I can barely hear myself over all that caterwauling!" she declared. Obi-Wan was glad she hadn't asked him to read to her, for his eyes kept welling up as the children vied for his attention. Sabé caught his eye from across the living room as she twisted Dayne's hair over her ears, and gave him a soft, sympathetic smile.

Leftover or not, the meal in the outdoor courtyard was delicious, made even more scrumptious by their fatigue and the lingering heat of a long day. And the tumblers of sweet red wine Sim never let go completely empty.

"You know," he said, "you'll have to get used to haggling if you're going to keep your vaporator in repair."

"You should take Dayne shopping with you!" Tuva suggested, already pulling at the braid Sabé had woven just before they sat down. "She's a born negotiator."

Sabé's foot nudged his under the table, and he darted a sideways glance at her to see her lips curve in a smile around the rim of her cup. "Sounds like you could learn a thing or two from her."

Wulfric snickered. "The only thing Dayne negotiates is how to sneak off and make out with her boyfriend."

The girl's pale freckled face flooded with color, like the tumbler Sim had just leaned across the table to refill for Obi-Wan. He nearly _over_ filled it, so startling was the claim his son made, but Obi-Wan discreetly gestured beneath the table to tilt the neck of the wine bottle up. Everyone was too fixated on Dayne to notice.

"That's not true! I don't have a boyfriend!"

"You wish you did," Wulfric taunted. He batted his eyelashes and pitched his voice high. "Oh, Kit, you're so tall and dreamy--"

"Knock it off, Wulfie." Sim addressed his daughter. "It better not be true. You're too young for…"

He visibly paled, and took a drink of wine. So it wasn't only Jedi Masters who were uncomfortable discussing their Apprentices' adolescent urges.

"I was always completely comfortable discussing those matters," Qui-Gon said, a voice at Obi-Wan's shoulder. "How's the wine?"

"I'm almost thirteen," Dayne protested. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

"To me you'll always--"

"Sim." Mari shook her head.

"I never kissed anyone till I was over thirty," Sabé offered.

"Oh, see, be like Sabé," said Sim, gesturing with his fork. "Shoot hawks, style hair, don't kiss boys--Wait. You're serious?"

Now color crept into Sabé's cheeks, and her eyes glanced sideways again. "Thirty-three, to be exact."

"How old are you now?"

" _Wulfie._ "

"Thirty-three."

The back of Obi-Wan's neck prickled. Had he...surely _he_ couldn't be the first man she'd kissed. But what else could she mean? Warmth stole all through him.

"I never did until I was forty," he said, looking at her.

Silence all around the table.

Until Gunnar announced through a mouthful of nerferd's pie, "Kissing's yucky."

Laughter diffused the awkward moment, and Sim pulled his youngest against his side, ruffled his hair and kissed the crown of his head. "You'll change your mind about that--long before you're forty."

Clearly, he didn't believe Obi-Wan. But Sabé's warm gaze lingered on him until she

asked Mari where she got her fresh greens for the salad. When they'd eaten their fill, their hostess showed them her aeroponic garden in the cellar below the kitchen. With a note of pride in her voice, Mari explained how they’d installed grow lights along the low ceiling and named the various fruits and vegetables which hung suspended in mid-air by a web of duraplast scaffolding, with irrigation drips of water and nutrients running directly to the roots.

Obi-Wan approached an unassuming plant that bore a half dozen large buds but no fruit. He recognized the five-leaf pattern. “Is this Algarine torve weed?”

Mari lifted her eyebrows and smiled. “Indeed. We call it tor weed, but yes, it’s the same.”

“Ohhh, let me see,” said Sabé, touching one of the buds. “I’ve always been curious…”

“It does pass the time,” said Mari with a grin.

Obi-Wan was impressed that the Starfalls had managed to grow torve weed here, in the basement of a farm on a desert planet. He fingered the soft, large buds, remembering how Qui-Gon had shown him a field of them while on a mission to Algara II. Later, he’d convinced his uptight young Padawan to sample a bit of a dessert with the euphoriant baked into it, saying that it could bring enlightenment and reveal the collective nature of all things. Obi-Wan had finally agreed, and they’d taken solemn bites as they sat together on the covered porch of a cabin they stayed in for a few nights, while the rain came down all around them. Obi-Wan had tried to understand what his Master meant, but struggled against what he’d interpreted--incorrectly, Qui-Gon had tried to assure him--as a loss of control.

A small failure, in a sea of larger ones. He’d almost forgotten it. How many moments with Qui-Gon were lost now?

Bringing his attention back to the present, he looked around the rest of the garden. It _was_ fascinating, if for no other reason than it was an ingenious design, and one more proof of how there was life everywhere.

Sabé, however, took a particular interest. She bent to touch the edges of a head of mega-leaf lettuce as delicately as if they were rose petals. "My mum's lettuce will be coming in now."

Obi-Wan stopped short. She'd never spoken of her parents before; he'd assumed since she had nowhere else to go that they must be dead. But of course a fugitive couldn't go home. The Empire would be watching them, if they hadn't been already on the basis of their daughter's association to Padmé.

She lingered in the cellar with Mari, while Sim and Obi-Wan went back upstairs. The children had already brought the dishes in, the sounds of play drifting from the living area of the house. Wulfric stood at the counter, eating another helping of nerfherd's pie directly out of the baking pan.

"Planning to eat us out of house and home?" Sim squeezed his son's shoulder as he went to open another bottle of wine.

Wulfric grinned around a bite. "I'm a growing boy!"

"Why do you think I gave you the repulsorlift?" Obi-Wan said. "I know exactly how much teenaged boys eat."

Sim stilled for a moment before continuing to work the cork out, and Obi-Wan realized how that must’ve sounded. Well, let him know that Crazy Ben had a past; let him think he was estranged from his family, or that his family had been murdered by the Empire. Whatever Sim imagined couldn’t be worse than what Obi-Wan had actually experienced.

“You know,” said Wulfric through a mouthful, “I was wrong about you. You’re not half bad, Ben.”

“Wulfric!” Sim stopped in the middle of refilling Obi-Wan’s wine.

“What?” Wulfric swallowed wrong and began to cough. He had to gulp down water until the fit passed.

“No, no,” said Obi-Wan, offering the boy a smile. “It’s quite all right. Thanks for telling me so. I always assume people think the worst. It’s nice to know that’s not the case.”

He had Dojj and Wulfric on his side now. And Tuva. And Gunnar liked his krayt dragon impression, though that was perhaps not the best case for his sanity. He found himself blinking away tears again.

“Um.” Now Wulfric blushed, perhaps realizing his gaffe. “You’re welcome. Well. Good night!”

He beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen.

With an apologetic look and a helpless gesture after his son, Sim handed Obi-Wan his tumbler and excused himself to go and put Gunnar and Tuva to bed.

It was only then that Obi-Wan mused how fluidly the day had ended. Sim and Mari hadn’t needed to ask him and Sabé to stay the night, but it looked now like they would. And somehow, this felt fine. For as unused to conversation as he’d become, and as tired as it made him, this--these people--were all right.

Being as sparing as he could with the water, he picked up a dish and began washing. This was the first time he’d been by himself since his trip back from the Larses’ homestead...but he wasn’t alone. He could hear the teenagers arguing about something as they readied for bed, and the low drone of Sim’s voice as he read a story to the younger kids who, by the sound of it, still shared a room. There was Mari’s matter-of-fact tone, so like Sabé’s, floating up through the open trap door of the cellar.

“...sure you're not confusing gratitude with--something else?”

Obi-Wan stopped scrubbing. Cocked his head.

“You needn’t worry,” came Sabé’s reply. “It’s not like that. It’s too new...”

His pulse pounded in his ears as Sabé’s voice lowered. He returned his attention to the dish he’d been washing, but it was impossible not to overhear snippets.

“The desert can change a person. He may not be the same man you knew--”

“I _know_ he’s not.” A silence. “I’ve changed since he knew me, too.”

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. You both seem like nice people…”

Their voices lowered again. Cheeks flaming, Obi-Wan washed and dried the dishes one by one, and opened cabinets until he found where everything went, scuffing in his bare feet across the floor as loudly as he could. Which wasn’t loudly enough.

Of course, Mari wasn’t wrong. Nor was Sabé. Neither of them was the same person they’d been before the war. And working out who they were _now_ , well...that was something they’d struggled through alone for long enough.

The last of the dishes put away, Obi-Wan stood still and closed his eyes. He breathed out, releasing the feeling of doubt dredged up by the overheard conversation into the Force. He breathed in, allowing himself to receive what this farmhouse, this family had to offer.

It took his breath away, the sense of familiarity that enveloped him. He put out his hands, laying them on the countertops on either side of him, reassuring himself of where he was.

"For a moment I thought I was in the Temple," Obi-Wan said. _Home._ "There's such peace and joy here."

"Imagine that," replied Qui-Gon.

"The joy I won't dispute," Sim's voice said, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see him returning to the kitchen, thankfully not looking at him as though he'd caught a madman talking to himself. "The peace...well, that's what the wine and weed are for."

Mari and Sabé rejoined them, and they took the wine tumblers, bottle, and a plate of muja muffins to an outdoor seating area around a small fire pit.

Once everyone had settled with wine and woven blankets and Sim had the fire going, Mari passed the plate. “If you’re not used to tor weed, I’d recommend starting with half a muffin. Wait an hour before you take more. Otherwise--” She blew her breath out and widened her eyes.

“What?” asked Sabé.

“Let’s just say it took me thirty minutes to brush my teeth once,” Mari finished.

"She kept stopping to stare at the bristles and ask if I'd ever seen anything so wonderful."

“Shush, you. It was the foam, not the bristles.”

“Of course.”

They snickered quietly together.

“But that’s the point,” said Mari to her guests. “I misspoke earlier. It’s not to pass the time, because stars know it actually seems to slow down. Or maybe it makes _us_ slow down. I don’t know.” She chuckled again. “Whatever the case, tor weed makes it more interesting. You _notice_ more. You'll see."

Obi-Wan broke off half and handed the other to Sabé, who took it with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. Sim and Mari shared theirs, as well, probably thinking of the child who might wake in the night needing the ‘fresher or a cup of water. It wouldn’t do to be _too_ euphoric.

“Cheers,” Obi-Wan whispered to Qui-Gon before he popped the muffin into his mouth.

The muja made it sweet, but he tasted an undertone he only had once before, gritty and bitter. He washed it down with a sip of his dark red wine. It would take a while to feel the effects, so he settled back to take in the night.

Aside from the crackle of the fire and the occasional bleat of a goat or eopie, the evening was silent. After the storm, the sky was clear and black, with seemingly infinite stars winking down at them. Obi-Wan looked at Sim and Mari, who lounged with legs outstretched toward the heat of the fire pit, arms dangling over their chairs, knuckles brushing, their other hands cradling their wine against their chests.

It was fine not to speak. He glanced at Sabé to find her staring into the fire with a smile. Before he could think twice, he reached out and ran his fingers down the nape of her neck, leaving his hand to rest at the back of her elbow on the armrest. His whole body flushed as her smile widened, the shimmer of her gaze turning toward him.

"So Sabé is a former hairdresser and a skilled markswoman," Sim's voice rasped through the thick evening quiet. "What about you, Ben? What were you before?"

Although he'd never stopped to construct a backstory for Ben--he hadn't anticipated becoming close enough to anyone for there to be an interest--the answer came to him readily.

Not taking his gaze from Sabé's, he said, "I was religious."

"True," said Qui-Gon, at his shoulder again, "from a certain point of view."

Sabé's steady gaze hinted at her approval, too.

"Religious...Like a priest?"

Rather like. “More like a monk.”

"Well, that would explain the kissing," Sim muttered, rubbing his chin. "You said _were_. You're not religious anymore?"

The shimmering blue form of Qui-Gon looked amused. Obi-Wan smiled back at him; in one sense, he must be more religious than ever, exploring depths of the Force most Jedi had never reached in order to commune with his Master beyond the world of the living. He had further yet to go, to learn how to become one with the Force himself. If that was what he chose.

He heard the crackle of fire and remembered he needed to answer.

"I had a crisis."

"Of faith?" Mari asked.

But it was Sabé who seemed most interested in what he would answer. He weighed what he might say against the snippets of conversation he'd overheard between the two women. His fingers stroked her elbow, skimming the edge of her rolled-up sleeve. How could he help her to know him? At times he scarcely knew himself.

In the dark of her eyes, he found his own darkness mirrored.

"Of meaning."

For a moment no one responded, then Sim chuckled, head lolling on the back of his chair. " _Meaning_. Exactly the kind of thing to talk about when you're getting high."

"I had a mentor who thought so," Obi-Wan replied.

"Oh, it was that kind of religion?" Mari asked. "Unlocking the mysteries of the universe with the aid of substances?"

"It wasn't that kind of religion, but he was that kind of religious person."

Qui-Gon laughed. "You, on the other hand…"

"I was slow to learn," Obi-Wan said, to Qui-Gon, though it didn't sound out of place in the group conversation.

“The seed was planted,” said Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan’s chest pinched again. He nodded.

“The only religion around here,” said Sim, “is something called the Krayt Cult, believe it or not.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“And you already know the password.”

He stared at Sim. Realized he wasn’t joking. And burst out laughing. He had to work to hold his wine steady as his belly shook. Looking around, he saw everyone else in various states of jollity. Mari, overcome by giggles, had to set her wine down on the ground until the fit had passed. Sim reached across and punched him lightly on the arm as he chuckled, red-faced, his wine sloshing in its tumbler. Sabé clasped his other shoulder as though it might keep her from falling out of her chair.

Was this what it meant to have friends?

After they’d all recovered, Mari brought out what she called “the actual dessert,” a tray of Zucca fruit pastries, and when Obi-Wan bit into his, he thought he’d never tasted anything so delectable, so complex and savory, the sweetness and saltiness dancing on his tongue and coating his mouth. When he looked at Sabé he knew that she was experiencing the same reaction to the taste, and they stared at each other, feeling almost obscene in their enjoyment of it, as when they'd glutted themselves on the nerfherd's pie Mari sent weeks ago. For several moments he couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to.

Around them, the conversation drifted to Emperor Palpatine’s galactic order for atheism, though Mari assured Sabé that no one here paid it any mind. For one thing, Krayt Cult aside, no one really believed in a higher power on Tatooine, anyhow; for another, the Outer Rim planets mostly ignored dictums from the Empire. Which brought Sim to the topic of the kids ignoring _their_ dictums, and then ensued several anecdotes of misbehavior which were, of course, hilarious in hindsight, or so they assured their guests. Obi-Wan had a few of his own he could’ve shared, if he didn’t have such secrets to guard. If they wouldn’t provoke such pain.

But somehow that pain seemed far away just now. All he sensed was the connection between himself, and Sabé, and Sim and Mari. Even between the humans and the creatures outside, the rough vegetation, the sand and the sparse clouds, the atmosphere holding the planet together, the suns keeping it on its course.

"This is what you wanted me to feel," Obi-Wan said.

"The torve weed has opened your mind," Qui-Gon replied, hovering near the plate of muffins. "I do wish I could partake with you."

"I wish you could, too."  

"We do," Mari said, her low laugh wending from the other side of Sim.

"He was talking to the ghost." Sabé's eyes widened with her realization that she'd said too much. She stated to bring her hand up to cover her mouth, only to erupt in giggles that spread to the others.

"You _are_ Crazy Ben," said Sim.

"I am!"  His laugh rang out the loudest of all.

"You, Padawan, are as sane as you've ever been," Qui-Gon told him, and then faded away.

When their laughter had, Sabé leaned back to gaze up at the moons. “I knew a place with three moons, too,” she said quietly. “It has a moon goddess.”

Looking up with her, Mari sighed. “No goddesses here.”

“That’s not true.” Sim rested his wide, tanned hand over her slender, freckled one.

His wife’s eyes glistened as she whispered, “Incorrigible.”

“We’ll head home early tomorrow,” said Obi-Wan, not wanting to break the spell but sensing the shift in energy. “Unless you need us for anything else.”

“Stay for breakfast,” said Mari, pushing to her feet, catching the blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. “We’re up early.”

“That’s very kind, thanks.”

Mari held out a hand to Sim, who staggered to his feet. "We shuffled the kids around, so you two can have the room across from the 'fresher. When you're ready," she added, noting that Obi-Wan and Sabé hadn't moved. She was still gazing up at the moons, and he belatedly remembered to tell their hosts goodnight as they went inside.

It _wasn't_ true that there were no goddesses here. Sabé sat enthroned beside him, cheeks flushed and lips reddened by wine, the lowest of the three moons of Tatooine positioned so perfectly behind her that it might be a queen's headdress, or a halo.

What did that make him? Her acolyte?

Her consort?

"Do you feel it, Sabé?" he whispered, for to speak aloud would violate the holiness of this place.

"Feel what?" Her gaze dropped from his eyes, to his beard. She reached out and stroked it.

"Everything."

Everything on earth, and beyond it.

But she remained fascinated by his beard. She kept running her fingers through it, and he let her, leaning into her touch. For it was part of everything, too. A small part. Something they could manage.

"I thought of this, while you were away," she said.

"Of my beard?"

"You said we should think. So I thought about how it would feel if you kissed me."

He nuzzled her hand until his lips reached her palm, and he kissed it.

“Like that,” she breathed. “And more.”

Leaning over, he found the pulse inside her elbow, sensed the life coursing under the skin, and kissed that while her fingers raked through his hair.

“More.”

He knelt at her feet, tugged her gently toward him by the hand, until her neck was in reach. Where the hair curled behind her ear. It needed to be kissed, and so he did.

Sabé only sighed, but he knew what she meant. He wanted more, too.

When she looked at him, he saw it all, every wish granted. His hands lay in her lap--her tools, should she wish to take them up. Her fingers curled around his, a promise waiting to be kept.

He brought his lips to hers and pledged himself to her with a kiss.

An eternity later, he drew back, and she gasped, not for lack of air, but from the knowledge she'd tasted.

"I felt it."

A single tear ran down her cheek, and he kissed that, too. It tasted of the ocean, of his own body, of a baby’s forehead.

“Show me more,” she said, shaking.

Obi-Wan thought she had as much to show him, but he nodded and stood, hands around her waist as he drew her to her feet. Her arms circled his neck and her mouth found his again. It was going to take them all night to go inside to the bedroom set aside for them if they kept pausing to do this. But they had all night.

For wasn’t _time_ part of this, too? Everything and everyone, even the spaces in between, and the time from now to long ago to forever. It was all one, and now they were two, in the infinite universe. Together.

Eventually, this kiss ended, as the one before it had, but it was a beginning of another thing. Or simply a pause. He skimmed a hand from Sabé's waist, up her back to her shoulder and then over the length of her arm to her hand at the back of his neck. Wove their fingers together, marveling at how they fitted together to make one thing. A woven blanket. A braid.

He raised their joined hands and brushed his lips over her skin and his own. Lowered them, and together they made their way through the darkened house. But it wasn't dark. The light of three moons slanted through the windows. Again, he thought of the Temple. Of Sabé's childhood home, though he'd never seen it, didn't even know where it was. The boy he'd never been, the girl she might have, sneaking around when they should have been in bed, clapping free hands over mouths to stifle laughter as bare feet feet skipped from light patch to light, avoiding the dark spaces between.

In this fashion, they made their way to their room for the night--Wulfric's, he guessed, from the podracing posters on the walls, model starfighters on shelves, and the pile of dirty clothes he hadn't quite managed to kick all the way under the bed, illuminated by the chrono on the nightstand and a setla lamp glowing dimly from a small corner desk.

With the door closed, the room felt stuffy, like one of the reading rooms in the Temple, vibrating with the energy of ancient ideas. But this space was filled with new ones, unimagined lives, paths to be chosen. No option had been discarded yet in this place.

Obi-Wan reached for the braid at Sabé’s temple and ran his fingers down the soft, woven strands to the tie at the bottom, which he pulled free and let fall to the tiled floor. Weaved his fingers in to loosen it. Now he could run his hands through the waves of hair on both sides, and as he did, she leaned into him.

"I'll grow it out again," she told him, breath hot in his ear, and he imagined his fingers sliding through cascades of it all the way to her waist. But it suited her like this, too, left her graceful neck exposed, and he untangled his hands from her hair to stroke the skin there.

“You’re warm,” he said, feeling the flush on her cheek, the back of her neck. He pressed his other hand into the small of her back. “Hot.”

“So are you.” Her lips, still near his ear, brushed his cheek, her hands running down the sides of his torso.

Without thinking, Obi-Wan crossed his hands and pulled his tunic over his head, tossing it to the floor. It was better with just the cotton undershirt, but he was still too warm. Sabé’s hands, clutching his hips, squeezed infinitesimally.

Her thumbs went under the shirt, just a brush of the skin above his hips, but it felt...like it needed to be more.

He pulled that shirt off, too.

Sabé explored his torso with her hands, fingers splaying out to slot between his ribs, tracing the outline of his abdominal muscles, dipping into his navel.

"You have an innie!" she exclaimed, and his stomach quivered as the declaration drew a laugh from him. "So do I."

"I know." He remembered seeing it through her thin tank top when he'd sponged her fevered body.

Her hands left him--he felt bereft--but it was only to remove her own blouse.

"See?"

Obi-Wan nodded, dragged his eyes down from her thin cotton bra, and watched his finger trace the edge of her navel as he had not when she was ill. She was still lean, but no longer alarmingly so. He explored her as she had him, skimming his fingers along the curve of her waist. She squirmed.

"Ticklish?"

“Desperately,” she admitted.

He felt a grin creep up, but he resisted the impulse to test it out with his fingers. Although the four walls of this bedroom seemed to contain a universe which they alone inhabited, he knew there were others asleep on both sides. Another time, he'd fill his hovel with her shrieks of laughter.

For now, he knelt and brushed his mouth along the skin just above the low waistband of her leggings. He felt it quiver under his lips and fingertips--but not from laughter, he discovered as he darted his eyes upward to find her watching him hungrily. He opened his mouth and kissed the angular hipbone, bit it gently, eliciting a hiss of pleasure. Then he dragged his tongue across a span of flesh, kissed again beneath her navel, and tasted his way to the other hip. He’d left his hands to run down the sides of her body and wrap around the backs of her thighs, and it was all he could do not to allow them to rove further, or his lips to seek out the heat between her legs. It was so, so close.

He had to stand, if he wanted to take things slowly, for they truly had all night. All the nights. When he rose, she fell into his arms, surrendering herself to his kisses, hands raking through his hair. She must feel his desire against her, as he felt her heat flaring around him, but the sensation of this goodness, this _rightness_ , overshadowed his fleshly response. It was all part of everything, another life-affirming act in which Obi-Wan felt obligated to rejoice. For how could he refuse? Their bodies were part of the continuum of life, and there was no beginning or end, just as this moment was sacred, as was _this_ one, and the next, each the immaculate _now_.

The world turned sideways as he fell backward onto the bed, bringing Sabé with him. It didn’t matter how they’d rotated, or who had led them there. This was better. Closer. He drew her over him, folded arms across her back to pull her against him, as restful with her soft weight over him as he had felt beneath any blanket. Yet senses that had long lain dormant roused.

Although urgency propelled their kisses and caresses now, time seemed to slow, so that Obi-Wan was aware of each infinitesimal detail as a unique experience that lasted for an eternity. Exactly as Mari had described the high, though she couldn't have anticipated their testing it this way. The sharp edges of Sabé's teeth across his lip, the roughness of her tongue as she plumbed his depths. He opened to her search, so she might find and free him. His hand curled over her breast, her flesh searing through the scrap of fabric as her heart drummed against his palm. Yet he felt, heard every distinct beat, the tattoo echoed within in the cage of his own chest. _Tatooine_. As if they'd always been meant to land here. They had before. They had again. This time safe in the circle of one another's embrace.

He surveyed the new world in which he found himself, the gentle rises of her muscles, harder ridges of her vertebrae, descending into valleys and then back up again until he reached the edge of her bra. At the top of the soft rounded hill of her breast, a peak hardened beneath the pad of his thumb as it stroked her nipple through the cotton. He'd map her, and follow the path set before him, wherever it led.

Sabé's mouth withdrawing from his was no less acutely felt than the movements of her lips and tongue and teeth on his. Obi-Wan lifted his head and glimpsed her luminous eyes peering down at him before she tucked her head into the curve of his neck.

"It's so much," she murmured against his shoulder.

He nodded. It was everything, and for so long they'd been accustomed to nothing. They needn't glut themselves now.

Obi-Wan was content to feel the sweat-slickened flesh of her abdomen against his. His heart pounding against her palm as she feathered his chest hair between her fingertips. Her toes curling against his ankles and calves where his pants rode up.

The night passed, not in any measure of time, but in the movements of their bodies, or their stillness. At some points they began to kiss again, at others they simply breathed. Was there any difference between the two? Her mouth on his breathed life into his suffocated lungs, his body over hers brought her heart into pace, her fingers dragged the hair from his eyes so he could see, her legs wrapped tightly against his hips kept him from falling apart.

Little by little, he noticed the lights seemed to have dimmed, the sighs and whispered words and steady inhalations and exhalations receded to background noise. The bed beneath them sank with their weight, cradling them.

"I'm sleepy," Sabé said.

"Then sleep," Obi-Wan replied, or might simply have brushed his lips to her temple.

He was wrong, he thought as he drifted off. It wasn’t the ocean. It was what he tasted on his tongue when he meditated and dove into the depths the Force.

~*~

A krayt dragon woke them.

Outside the closed door, screeches and bellows and ominous scritching on the duraplast went on and on, until Sim’s voice hollered, “Gunnar! Enough!”

The _stomp-stomp-stomp_ of his running to his parents’ bedroom probably meant that there was no more sleep to be had. Obi-Wan cracked his eyes open to find dusty, hand-carved starships strung on monofilament wires from the ceiling--a bygone era, to be sure, for the teenaged Wulfric wouldn’t play with any of this stuff anymore. As it should be.

For people changed, didn’t they? Obi-Wan was no longer a toddler playing with wooden blocks in the Temple créche, laughing when he made them float into the formation of stairs, or circular temples, or DNA. Gone was the Youngling batting a training saber, and the Padawan who argued with his Master, gone the Master who later argued with his own Padawan. Even the General of the Grand Republic was no more. A head of dark hair tickled his shoulder and chin, a woman's not quite nude torso warm against his side. Snatches of last night came back to him, and he woke smiling for the first time since...he couldn't remember when--until Sabé raised her head with a moan.

"It's too early for krayt dragons."

"You have only yourself to blame for that," Obi-Wan told her.

She opened her mouth in retort, but none came out. She winced, and lowered her head again. He slid his fingers into her hair and massaged her scalp.

“Too much wine,” he murmured.

“You had the same.”

He shrugged, then regretted it when she groaned at the movement. Rested his fingers over her forehead and drew some of the pain away, into the Force, until she sighed against his bare chest.

"You're handy to have around." She pushed up on her elbow, looking a little short on sleep, but at least no longer in pain. They could nap when they got home.

"I try to be useful."

Obi-Wan's eyes dropped to her chest, the creases from the sheets spidering the pale skin above her bra. She followed his gaze, and a flush bloomed and spread upward from the white cotton, into her neck and cheeks. Apparently she'd forgotten she'd removed her blouse in the fever of the high. It wasn't _regret_ he sensed from the elevated tempo in the Force, but a milder emotion. Shyness, perhaps. He put out his hand and floated her discarded clothing into her lap.

Her eyes blinked open wide in surprise, then she laughed as she picked it up and clutched it in front of her chest. Obi-Wan grinned and sat up, his own skin warming under her gaze as the sheets slipped down around his waist. He was grateful now that he hadn’t elected to discard his trousers last night, as well, for his body was attuned to her every glance, responding at once to the appreciative curve of her lips as her eyes drifted downward to the trail of hair disappearing underneath the sheet. It wasn’t that he wished to hide his body’s natural response to her--she seemed to enjoy it last night, pressing ever closer. Rather, it was reality beckoning him home, for they still needed to get the vaporator working again, and quickly. Besides, he didn’t wish to overstay their welcome, and if he allowed himself to kiss Sabé again now, well...they might stay in bed for another hour. Or two.

Without getting up, he retrieved his own tunic and undershirt. In the pre-dawn grey slanting through the blinds, they dressed in silence, darting smiles toward each other. Raking his fingers through his mussed hair, Obi-Wan tied the top section into a knot again at the back of his head, and Sabé wove her braid. At last they were presentable enough to emerge from the bedroom.

Mari, dressed but pale and drawn, was just shuffling out of the refresher and running a brush through her long, copper locks. “Unghh,” she intoned dramatically, rolling puffy eyes skyward. “I overdid it. We don’t have guests that often.”

“It was a lovely night,” said Sabé.

“I’m glad,” Mari said with a genuine smile at them both. “The ‘fresher’s all yours.”

When at last they rejoined her and the rest of the family outside in the lantern-lit courtyard, Sim had already laid out piping hot  bacon and steaming flapjacks. Obi-Wan’s chest tightened at the show of hospitality. Repulsorlift or not, he doubted he could ever repay the Starfalls for the kindness they’d shown him and Sabé. But they were friends now, and he would try.

"Good morning," he greeted as they seated themselves in the places they'd occupied last night. "You're spoiling us for the snake soup back home."

"Caf?" Sim held up a duraplast carafe. He, too, shared his wife's haggard look, the furrow of the headache Sabé had worn.

The effects of the torve weed had worn off, so Obi-Wan's senses were no longer heightened; nevertheless, the dark aroma of the caf was the most appetizing of the breakfast smells.

"It’s been far too long since I’ve had caf," he said, holding out the empty mug at his place for Sim to fill.

Sim scrutinized him as he handed the full mug back. "You don't look like you need it as much as the rest of us. Wouldn't have pegged you as the drinker."

Obi-Wan paused, smiling as he sniffed the aromatic steam. "I learned it in the church."

The Starfalls' chuckles seemed even quieter in still of the early morning compared with his memories of last night's echoing laughter by the fire. The weed, it seemed, had also amplified his own sense of humor. He wasn't offended; he understood Sim and Mari's minds were on the tasks that lay before them, as his own was. They ate quietly and quickly, and soon had Nagpal saddled, canteens refilled and bags loaded, and were saying their goodbyes.

"Oh!" Sabé shifted the rifle on her shoulder to delve into her pocket and draw out the comlink Dayne had loaned her. "I nearly forgot to return this."

The girl started to take it, then glanced at her father. "Keep it. You need it more than I do."

Obi-Wan sensed this was something of a sacrifice--and Sabé had told him about Dayne's initial reluctance to leave it with her, which had taken on a new significance in light of Wulfric's teasing about boys--but being so cut off out here _was_ dangerous. Not only for their sakes, but the Starfalls had been able to call on them for help.

"Just until we get our own," Sabé said, slipping the device back into her pocket. "And I'll do your hair any time."

"Deal," Dayne said, grinning.

Once on their way, Obi-Wan resisted looking backward at the Starfall homestead, but he felt its pull now--a familiar sense of home and love, friendship and generosity. It was as though a door he hadn’t known was shut had suddenly opened; light and fresh air rushed into the dark, stuffy corners. He could breathe again, and see, and smile.

He brushed his fingers along Sabé’s forearm wrapped around his waist, let their fingers entwine when his hand met hers. Doors everywhere, and windows, too, flung wide. He could hear the whisper of a sandhawk’s wings, the ominous burrowing of a sandworm, the greedy chatter of the nearest clan of Jawas tearing something apart, all through the Force, and somehow in spite of it, too.

From time to time Obi-Wan felt the press of Sabé’s lips to his shoulder blade, or her inhalation as she breathed in his scent, the squeeze of her arms around his torso, or the twitch of her boot running along his calf. He felt it, and he wanted to, and now--wide open--he _did_. He would return each gesture in whatever way he could, whether by pressing his hand to hers, or reaching to the side to cradle the knee tucked next to his thigh, or drawing her fingers to his lips to kiss them.

All the while, the desert grew lighter around them. Grey brightened into a vibrant purple, which in turn bloomed pink even before Tatoo I emerged above the horizon. Torve weed couldn't have made the colors appear more vivid, though Obi-Wan knew his darkened state of mind had dulled them all before today. Though they rode east, toward the light, he didn't want to shade his eyes and miss a moment of it. By the time Tatoo II appeared, the landscape had shifted to the mesas and valleys that signalled they were only a few kilometers away.

Her knees squeezed his thighs. "Can we stop a moment?"

"Yes of course. We're in no rush."

The vaporator could wait a few minutes longer. There was something here she, _they_ , needed to do first.

He tugged at Nagpal's rein and swung back in the saddle to face her, but she'd already dismounted. Obi-Wan followed, keeping hold of the bridle to join her at the edge of the outcropping. Sabé reached out for him, but didn't take her eyes off the panorama as her arm snaked around his waist. His wrapped around her shoulders as he looked out with her across the valley.

Pink burned orange now, the desert ablaze.

"Do you see it, Obi-Wan?" Her shoulder rolled beneath his hand as she pointed directly ahead. “We’re almost home.”

There, on the rocky bluff across the valley, rose the domed roof of his hovel, pale synstone transformed by the twin suns into burnished gold.

For two years, sunrise had only heralded the start of another endless cycle of hours to be endured. Now, the new day dawned as a gift he gratefully received.  

"We have all the time in the world."


	15. Chapter 15

Over two years' worth of tally marks glared at Sabé from the wall above the cellar stairs, but today she hardly saw them as she contemplated the packed earth they were etched in. With her hand, she drew invisible lines down the length of it, while Obi-Wan watched from his workbench across the room.

"I think we could have two vertical towers on this wall," she told him. "Maybe five here?" She indicated the one perpendicular to the calendar. "Another in this corner...We don't have a lot of horizontal space, but the ceilings are nice and high."

"That's what sold me on the place," Obi-Wan replied as he swiveled his chair to scratch away with a pencil on a paper spread out on the desk. "The little architectural tricks that make it feel spacious."

Laughing, Sabé moved around the jut to the wall beside the shelves. "Five more towers here."

"Might I suggest carrots? To coordinate with the rug."

"Then it'll _really_ bring the cellar together." She couldn't resist joking with him when he grinned like that, eyes so bright in the dim of the underground room. Was this the same man who, six weeks ago, scarcely made eye contact with her or sustained a conversation of more than a few sentences? Now he was more like the Jedi she'd known, though not entirely the same man. As Mari had rightly pointed out.

The Jedi was not a man she'd ever imagined she would spend a great deal of time kissing.

Sabé came to his side, touching his shoulder as she peered over it at the etched drawings and precise written descriptions: dirt-filled, irrigated trays for seedlings; vertical towers along the walls to transfer the seedlings to when they were big enough; a spare nutrient water drum and pump that would hopefully fit alongside the existing cistern; irrigation lines; and of course grow lights wired to the roof’s solar panels. It was a big job but, as Obi-Wan had said, they had nothing but time.

Time to plant, and to learn when they inevitably made mistakes, for there was plenty that could go wrong in this little garden. They’d figure it out, by trial and error and--hopefully--with a little advice from Mari and Sim.

“This is a lot to buy,” Sabé said. “Might have to get it piece by piece.” She still hadn't learned how he sustained himself financially and would not ask him.

“We’ll manage,” he said, expression open even if he hadn't addressed her unspoken question.

He went to the hatch-marked wall and held his drawing up beside it as though to envision the greenery already there.

“We can do this,” he murmured to himself. Then, turning glimmering eyes on her, repeated, “We can do this.”

Coming to his side, Sabé nodded. Felt a smile bloom. The moment his eyes dropped to her mouth, he leaned down and kissed it.

For that was how it was between them now. If he thirsted for her kiss, he took it. If she hungered for his touch, it was hers. Much of their days were spun through with physical closeness, though they had yet to remove a thread of clothing in the week since they'd stayed with the Starfalls when torve weed lowered their inhibitions. It wasn't that she felt shyer with him, or regretted anything she'd done; simply that not progressing beyond kissing and exploring each other's bodies through their clothes felt as natural as it had that night to remove them. Considering how much of the _un_ natural they'd both been put through, it was right to let things progress in their own time. And there was much they had yet to discover about each other than what could be covered up by tunics and trousers.

Sabé wasn’t surprised when Obi-Wan pulled back, arms still clasped behind the small of her back with the drawing dangling from his fingertips, face curious.

“You said your mother is a gardener.” When she nodded, he asked, “Will you tell me about her?”

A familiar pang of loss shot through her. It was hard to think of her parents; aside from the remark she’d made in Mari’s cellar garden--she was perhaps as surprised as Obi-Wan had seemed at the mention of her mother--she hadn’t spoken aloud of them to anyone since her arrest.

The Imperial interrogators had talked about them, though. Threatened them, to try and make her give up her secrets.

Sitting down on the steps next to the wall, she envisioned the peppers, herbs, and edible flowers her mother liked to grow. Why hadn’t Sabé ever bothered to learn from her how to do this? When she’d had the chance, and nothing but time?

Obi-Wan rolled up the drawing, then sat beside her, placing it across his knees. A deep breath, shuddering more than she preferred, but he would understand.

“My mother and father live in Keren, on Naboo." She had to believe they were alive. "He works in government security. She took care of me until I went into training under Captain Panaka in Theed. Then she found something else to tend after I’d left. Her aeroponic garden is lovely.”

"I'd assumed you meant a vegetable patch in the yard."

"No, they live in a small a small flat flat in an industrial neighborhood...She makes do. Rather like Mari."

"And you."

Sabé smiled, but said, "I'm not sure how like my mother I am."

"Do you look like her?"

She hadn't seen their faces--not even a picture--since…When was the last time she'd seen them? _I'll come soon, I promise_ , she'd told her mother on their last holocall. On all their holocalls. She struggled to breathe steadily again. Obi-Wan's fingers curled lightly around her knee. That steadied her.

"I have Dad's chin. I'm taller than Mum. And greyer," she added, reaching up to touch her hair. She'd never noticed so much as a single silver thread in her mother's dark hair, which she'd plaited and pinned around her head, like a crown. Was her memory accurate? If only she had a picture… "I always thought she was-- _is_ \--the most beautiful woman who ever lived."

Sabé’s throat closed up. They lived. They _lived_. They had to. Otherwise, what purpose was there in all _she’d_ lived through?

Her jaw began to shake. "I'm their only child," she choked out. "They must think I'm dead."

Which was worse? Their heartbreak? Or hers, if anything had happened to them because of her?

In a voice as caressing as his touch, Obi-Wan said, "I know someone who can get word to your parents that you're alive and safe. He can reassure you that they are, too."

She blinked at him in wonder, her tears forgotten.

Was this the _person of interest_ he protected? "Who?" she breathed, before she considered that he might not be able to tell her.

It seemed he might not when he replied, "A friend." He paused, but after a heartbeat of hesitation, he drew a long breath, as if he were about to take a leap off a cliff into a lake below. "Senator Organa."

Sabé was speechless. _Bail Organa_. A good man...

"He's been helping me," Obi-Wan went on. "Doubtless you've wondered how I can afford my lavish lifestyle."

"That…" Wasn't at all surprising, once she'd processed it. The Alderaanian Senator was one of the few people Padmé had trusted in the end. Sabé tried to laugh, but only managed a weak smile. "What makes you so sure he'd help _me_? I tried to get a message to him when the Rebellion had me in custody. Saw Gerrera didn't think I was to be trusted."

Was Obi-Wan aware of his fingers tightening on her knee? “Extreme measures soon beget extreme views. I wouldn’t worry about Saw’s opinion of you. And certainly not Senator Organa’s. I’ll get a message to him in Mos Espa.”

Inside her chest something swelled, and it took her a moment to recognize the feeling. _Hope_. Her body surged with it, and a tear had leaked from her eye before she swiped it away. As weary as she was of crying in front of him, she was glad for it to be because of something happy for a change.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Leaving the drawing on his lap, he clasped her hand. “I wish it could be more.”

 _It’s everything_ , she wanted to say, but her throat had tightened again.

What Mari didn’t understand about gratitude was that when one became accustomed to hoping for nothing, any gesture of generosity became a precious gift. Sabé didn’t know how long it would seem this way. Perhaps as time and distance softened her incarceration in her memory, love would cease to feel like a novelty--though she certainly never wished to take it for granted. In the meantime, she knew Obi-Wan understood, having lived without much hope himself.

Hope and love were twins, after all, weren’t they?

Weaving their fingers together, she leaned in, touched her forehead to his, lingering for just a moment before kissing him. A soft, brief kiss, but when it ended, he kept hold of her hand and drew her to her feet.

"We can go tomorrow, if you'd like," he said.

"It hasn't been a full month since our last trip into town," Sabé felt obligated to point out, though excitement mounted in her at the suggestion. He smiled as if he sensed it, gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it so she could ascend the stairs ahead of him.

"We need comlinks and supplies. I don't want to be caught without power in the next sandstorm. And there's no point in delaying our gardening project, is there?"

"Tomorrow it is," Sabé said, and he grinned as he emerged through the cellar opening.

It was odd, having actual plans, after so many days filled with nothingness. Even survival had been a questionable pursuit on the dungeon ship. After that, she’d had tasks on the starships that had hired her. Tasks, but not plans. Perhaps it had been the same for Obi-Wan.

And now they imagined a garden together.

They'd want to go to bed soon, to be up before dawn. But the days were lengthening as winter neared its end, and they had a little sunlight left.

As much as she enjoyed it, kissing wasn't the only new thing to fill their days. The evening they'd returned from the Starfalls' and repaired the vaporator and finished cleaning up from the storm, Obi-Wan had taken a wooden training saber out of his trunk and, without explanation, went out to the yard and began to practice with it. He did it again the next evening, and the next, while Sabé perched on the rail fence around Nagpal's shelter and watched as the setting sun glinted off Obi-Wan’s hair and beard, the shadows deepened the angles of his cheekbones and under his brows, the swirl and flap of his shirt as he twirled and leapt the only sounds over the evening breeze.

Now, as he retrieved the practice saber from the trunk and hefted it, he frowned as though it had told him something he hadn’t considered before. Or perhaps Qui-Gon was speaking to him?

Finally he raised his eyebrows to Sabé. “Would you like to learn?”

She went to him and, as she wrapped her fingers around the simple carved handle, heard his intake of breath as she took it from his hand.

"Is this _your_ training saber?" she asked. "From when you were a...Padawan?"

He shook his head. "No, we make-- _made_ \--real ones when we were deemed ready to become apprentices to Masters. This is just something I found myself absently carving from a scrap of wood."

Though he'd answered one question, it gave her others about how Jedi were trained. She wouldn't press, though. Instead, she gave him a small smile of encouragement and glanced to the trunk.

"Do you have another?"

Obi-Wan bent and drew out his lightsaber, the real one.

"Won't it…?" Sabé made a buzzing sound and sliced her hand across the smooth wooden blade.

Light pushed the emotion from his eyes as he chuckled quietly. "No, we won't actually spar. It'd be exercise, and practical for self-defense." He shrugged his shoulders slightly, as if his offer to teach her was a small thing. Sabe knew it to be the opposite.

She wished she could say, _How many people can say they've been trained by a Jedi?_ without wounding him. None living, except for the one person he'd trained--the one who'd betrayed him. Talking about Anakin, even the boy he had been, must be infinitely more painful for him than it was for her to talk about her parents. But there were other ways to speak, and when they went out to the yard and he began to lead her through the movements of the first form, he wordlessly revealed volumes to her about who he had been.

While her Handmaiden training had included multiple kinds of weaponry--blasters, staves, knives--swordsmanship hadn't been part of the curriculum. Especially not ancient Jedi saber arts. Obi-Wan went slowly, and though she wasn't a child, nor did he treat her as one, she saw what a patient teacher he must have been to the young Anakin.

He must be remembering, too. Beneath the steady hum of his saber, she heard his ragged breath, saw watery eyes illuminated by the blade.

They practiced until only a sliver of sun remained above the dunes, then he disengaged his lightsaber, expression calm once more.

"Shii-Cho," he said as they turned to watch the last of the sunset. "The Determination Form, or the Way of the Sarlacc. Appropriate for Tatooine, wouldn't you agree?"

"Hopefully it won't take me a thousand years to master."

"It won't. I learned it in the crèche, when I was a very small boy."

"A very small boy with the Force."

"The Force flows through all living beings. Including you, Sabé."

The way he said her name was a gentle tug, and she found she'd rather look at him than at the darkening landscape. "My combat skills are too rusty for much to flow through."

She slipped her hand into his, and by wordless agreement they went back inside. Obi-Wan paused in the hall to put his lightsaber in the backpack for tomorrow's trip to Mos Espa and the training weapon on the shelf above, while Sabé went to the kitchen to fill the kettle for bedtime tea. Another little routine they'd begun, sometimes over a game of sabacc. She went to the pantry and took out a tin of sweet-sand cookies he'd made--Mari's desserts had reminded him of his sweet tooth--and put a few on a plate. When the tea was ready, Obi-Wan helped her bring everything to the dining table.

Sabé blew across the hot mug, enjoying the warmth as it seeped into her palms. "Shii-Cho...It's not the form you've been practicing."

"You don't miss a thing, do you?" His smile faded. "That was Soresu. The Resilience Form."

"Did you learn it in the crèche?"

He took a careful sip. “We learned the basics of all seven forms as Younglings. Later, as Padawans, we’d spend a year or two studying four of the most useful ones. After that, we were expected to focus on one. Normally, it was the form chosen by one’s Master.”

“So Qui-Gon taught you Soresu?”

A weighted silence fell. Obi-Wan wrapped his fingers around the mug, and Sabé wondered if she’d touched another tender spot. It was hard to miss them with each other.

“Qui-Gon used Shien, the Perseverance Form.” He blew across his tea, not meeting her eyes, but something in his posture told her he would continue. “As his Padawan, I settled on Ataru, the Aggression Form. It proved...defensively inadequate.”

Obi-Wan looked past Sabé’s shoulder as though he saw his Master leaning against the wall. But he glanced away quickly, his brows knitting as though he wouldn’t--or couldn’t--speak to him. Perhaps he wasn’t there at all.

Had Anakin learned _his_ Master's form, or had he gone his own way in this, too? Obi-Wan, she reflected, was a natural teacher. Clearly, he wanted to teach someone, or else why would he have offered to instruct her? He was a repository of knowledge and history with no outlet for it. If only Saw Gererra had reached the dungeon ship in time, before the young Knights and Padawans were executed…

But surely there were other Force-sensitives in the galaxy? Not all of them could have been at the Temple. Toddlers too young, infants...children yet to be conceived? His knowledge need not be hidden away in his heart, never to be found.

“It takes time,” Obi-Wan said, drawing her from her own musings, “to discover who you are, as opposed to who you thought you were.”

He picked up a cookie, dunked it in his tea, and ate it.

Sabé took one, too, but her appetite had fled.

"I'm _not_ flagellating myself," Obi-Wan said, attention once more behind her, though it flickered back to her, and a smile ghosted his face. "Qui-Gon wants me to acknowledge that a generator complex is hardly the most defensible of battlegrounds."

The cookie was a little dry, and Sabé choked on it as she chuckled unexpectedly. All those wide-open spaces, with pits to fall into. She could scarcely imagine a worse place to battle. But the momentary amusement gave way to a deeper realization. The pit of Theed's generator wasn't so very different from the one at the base of the panopticon aboard the dungeon ship, where the Troopers forced the Jedi prisoners to fight to the death. In her nightmares she'd seen them there, seen Obi-Wan...But he'd already had his trial, hadn't he?

And won.

"Aggression was necessary to strike down a Sith," Obi-Wan went on,  looking beyond her again, gaze more distant even than the place where his Master's ghost stood. He was on another world, not Naboo, not thinking of the tattooed Zabrack. _I should have ended it._

She didn't interrupt him, but let him have a moment, waiting until he'd reached for a second cookie before she spoke.

"We all changed after that. I'd never fully grasped what it meant to be a Handmaiden until Padmé's life was truly in danger. If she'd died then...I don't know who I'd be." _Probably more unrecognizable than I am now._

Across the table, Obi-Wan hung on to her every word.

"I remember Qui-Gon's funeral," she said. "I watched you, and couldn't believe you were so composed, and looking after Anakin. I'd heard about Jedi detachment." Her face grew hot, and she took a drink of tea, which didn't help. "But it wasn't detachment. It was resilience. Battles are rites of passage for those in the business of peacekeeping, and we were so young then.” Padmé had been even younger. Sabé blinked to keep the tears at bay. “Your life changed, so you did, too."

His eyes locked on hers, lips parting as though he would say something, but he stopped and nodded, finally replying, “As did you.”

“I had little say in the matter.”

“Nor I.” They regarded each other quietly for a time. “Qui-Gon always said something that never made sense to me while he was alive.” Obi-Wan took a slow sip, his eyes far away again, perhaps gathering his thoughts, for he returned his focus to her when he set his mug down. “He said that the tools of a child won’t last through adulthood, that a man must pick up new ones. I thought somehow that everything I learned would build upon itself. I suppose in a way it has. But when he died…”

Sabé waited while Obi-Wan traced his finger over the handle of the mug, his lips pressed together.

“I hadn’t known how young I was, until I wasn’t any longer.” He looked at her as if to measure her understanding.

“I know.”

“Well.” He raised his mug. “Cheers to us.”

Lifting hers, she toasted with him. “Cheers indeed.”

They drank in silence. Before, she might’ve allowed herself to drown momentarily in the horrors of her imprisonment. But tonight, seated across from a fellow prisoner, one who’d also somehow escaped, she felt a strong sense of responsibility to him, to be present _now_ , in this better life. As arid and isolated as Tatooine was, and even considering how much it had stripped from the both of them, it was home. They could make beauty here. They already had.

 _I love you,_ she thought. Her heart drummed. Why didn't she say it aloud?  

Instead she asked, "Will you teach me the other forms?" If he had no one else to teach, maybe it would help him, in some way, to share this with her.

He looked a little surprised by the request, but pleased, too, a gentle smile appearing as he nodded.

They finished their tea without speaking, the air between them electrified by unnamed feelings. A flash of his blue eyes jolted her as he took her empty mug and carried their things back to the kitchen while she went to the ‘fresher to change for bed. The eyes burned into her as she stripped, alone in front of the mirror; and as she went about the evening rituals of hair brushing and teeth cleaning, she wondered when the sparkle had come back into hers. This wasn’t the woman he’d found in Mos Espa. Sabé hardly recognized herself. Suddenly she very much wanted him to see her body, all of it, thin and scarred as it was. It was the proudest offering she could give.

She would tender it gladly, when the time was right.

While she sat on the bed, waiting for Obi-Wan to dress and join her, anticipation thrummed through her so loudly she was surprised he couldn’t hear it. Each night it was this way. He would exit the ‘fresher and come to bed, switching off lights as he went, sometimes leaving the one over the bed if it looked like they would talk some more, but mostly flicking that one off, too, and meeting her lips with such eagerness that she thought her heart would pound right out of her chest.

Tonight, he left the bed light on. Sitting with legs folded across from her on the mattress, he gestured to a scar at the base of her neck.

“How did you get that?”

Sabé’s hand went to it automatically. “Ah. Not very exciting, I’m afraid.” When he raised his eyebrows in interest, she went on. “A queen’s hairdos require lethal heating implements. Cordé accidentally lost her grip and burned me once.”

Obi-Wan winced. "I knew it was a hazardous occupation, being a decoy, but I never imagined simply putting on the clothes was."

"You have no idea." She tugged her nightshirt above her knees, and he leaned over to view a shallow indentation in her shin. "That was from tripping over one of the gowns while going upstairs. It bled through an entire Senate session. I had to get stitches."

As she spoke, he touched her foot, bending lower over her leg as if to see it more clearly. Then his lips brushed over the old injury.

"The med droids didn't do that," she said, breathless as she felt the warmth of his soft laugh on her skin.

When he sat up again, she started to ask about a scar she'd noticed along his collarbone, but before she could, his lips pressed to the old curling iron burn. Heat penetrated the skin and flared downward. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Aware of his absence as he pulled away, she opened them and put a finger on the collarbone injury. “This?”

He looked confused for a moment, but his fingers found where hers had pointed. “Oh! I’d forgotten. I was...maybe seven or eight? I used to love climbing trees. Fell out once, and a branch scraped me on the way down before I thought to use the Force to help break the fall. Luckily I did, or I’d’ve had some broken bones.”

Her fingers still rested on the bone, and she splayed them, letting them push aside the collar to feel his warm, smooth skin before leaning forward to kiss the scar. She felt his intake of breath at the touch, his fingers tangling in her hair. Resting her head on his shoulder, she breathed in his scent and traced her fingers up to where his caressed her scalp.

“And these?” she asked, meaning the ones across his knuckles. She sat back to face him.

“You were around when I got these,” he said with wonder as he looked at the back of his hand. “The night I leapt from Padmé’s window to capture an assassin droid.”

“I remember." She also remembered a lot of sleepless nights at that time, when they'd nearly lost Padmé, when they _had_ lost Cordé, who'd been on decoy duty. Sabé couldn't linger there. "That was a security nightmare until we got the clari-crystalline replaced.”

Obi-Wan grinned.

“And you’re not even sorry.”

“I have enough regrets in my life without mourning a window.”

Returning his smile, Sabé took his hand and bent forward until her hair brushed his wrist. She then brought her lips to the zigzag of scarring over his knuckles and hand, feeling like an acolyte kissing a priest’s ring. He accepted her attentions for several moments, but she felt the quickening of his pulse in his wrists. Although it came as little surprise when he pulled his hands from her grasp to cup her face in his palms, the press of his lips and the sweep of his tongue nevertheless took her breath away.

But he gave her breath, too. Kissing, she'd thought in all her years of singleness, was something she could live without. An act of affection--pleasurable, she'd imagined, but not necessary to existence. Perhaps it wasn't, not truly. However, as his mustache prickled and his hair slid between her fingers, as she tasted the mint toothpaste on his lips and tongue, with an undercurrent of tea and sugar, and heard his inhalations to receive her breath, she felt certain that without this, it would be _merely_ existence. Not life.

His hands left her face to circle her waist, drawing her up onto her knees so that she straddled his lap. Yes, closer. Their hearts had opened up even more tonight than before; it was right that their bodies should, too.

Her nightshirt hiked up, and a whimper of pleasure escaped her throat when she felt his need against her, just as hers blazed to life in response. His kisses deepened, but they couldn’t get deep enough, nor could she press closely enough to the heat beneath her. Dimly, she thought how strange it was--in a good way--that two people who had never done this before should know exactly how to move together. Maybe it helped that they were adults, not teenagers blushing and bumbling through it. Not that flushes weren't prickling over both of them.

Just as she was wishing for more, his hand found her breast. So gently did his fingers curve around it that she shivered. She untangled one hand from his hair and covered it, clasping it more firmly against her chest as though she could make him touch what lay unspoken in her heart. He had, after all, reached inside her to draw the fever from her body.

A different sort of fever took hold at the warmth of his palm through her shirt. She rocked her hips against him, and his gratification rumbled through her. She did it again, and he growled as his fingers curled harder on her hipbone. Not quite hard enough to bruise, though she almost wished it would, the blue of his fingerprints on her pale skin a happy memory among her other scars. She kissed him harder, grazing his lower lip with her teeth, and breath came ragged from his mouth into hers before he dove for another kiss, his lips crushing hers, tongue running along her teeth until he plunged deeper again.

Sabé’s hands had crept under his shirt, and she discovered hip bones rocking under her palms. A little higher, the muscles of his torso undulated. Higher still, his ribcage, peppered with raised scars she hadn’t learned about yet. She wanted to tug the shirt off, but she hadn’t asked, and he hadn’t offered--but he seemed to relish her exploration underneath the fabric, so she continued. There was the hair of his chest, the firm pectoral muscles. Obi-Wan pressed her hand harder there, as she had moments ago.

 _I love you_.

She parted her lips on his, perhaps to say the words. Felt moisture on them, tasted salt. Obi-Wan's chest shuddered beneath her hand.

"Sabé," he rasped. "I'm sorry, but...can we stop? For now," he added, hastily--for she must have looked confused, or worried, or hurt; all three emotions had flickered through her. He smiled, tremulously, lips reddened and swollen amidst the red gold of his beard, and stroked her hair reassuringly.

"Did I…?" She slid off his lap. "Is something wrong?"

He kissed her once more. Leaned his forehead against hers, fingers in her hair. “ _Everything_...is right.”

She raked her fingers through his tousled locks, felt her own shaky smile in return. “Let’s get used to it, then.”

Slowly, as though reluctant to do so, he leaned back to switch off the light, and they crawled under the covers together side by side. When she’d settled, he lay his hand inside hers, palm up, fingers curled like a flower waiting to unfurl.


	16. Chapter 16

The Rodian smuggler Obi-Wan had bribed to let him use his ship's com system remained in the hold with him while he conducted his business. Obi-Wan was reasonably certain he was a smuggler, anyway. He might be a bounty hunter. Or an assassin. Or all three. But he sensed no danger to himself, just a working man stopping at Mos Espa spaceport to refuel and make a few extra credits; so he settled on the squeaky stool and accessed the deep 'Net channel through which he and Bail Organa maintained their infrequent contact.

He had no intention of breaking his promise to Sabé that he'd get word to her parents that she was alive.

More than alive. _Thriving_ , on Tatooine, of all places, and with a Jedi, of all people. Of course they couldn't know where she was or who she was with, but Bail would see to it they knew enough. Would he read anything between the lines about the nature of their relationship? The Jedi cipher they'd adopted during the war didn't offer much in the way of discussing romance, though Obi-Wan wished he could proclaim his love from the rooftops.

"It might be wise to proclaim it to her, first," said his Master at his shoulder.

"Might it?"

"Might what?" asked the Rodian.

Qui-Gon sighed. "Haven't you already, in deed if not in word?"

Obi-Wan glanced back at the Rodian. "Just talking to myself."

"People will say you're crazy."

"Believe me, they do."

As he returned his attention to the computer, Obi-Wan thought he heard a muttered, _nerve burner._ He smiled, which made the Rodian shift uncomfortably. No matter. Obi-Wan felt saner than he had in years. Except that it was pure madness to be a desert hermit in love.

He read through his message to Bail one final time and, satisfied, sent it into the ether of the HoloNet. It vanished from the screen; there would be no record of it on his end, nor on the Senator’s once he'd read it. Swiveling on the stool, he stood to face the Rodian, who straightened up from where he'd been leaning against a dejarik table across the hold, arms folded.

"You've been most helpful," Obi-Wan said, delving into his pocket for a few extra credits.

Sabé had insisted he take some of her money for this transaction, since it was partly a favor to her, and he'd had to agree; sometimes spacers were less likely to accept the local currency he possessed. He left them on the console and strode past the smuggler, feeling the glittering eyes on his back like the tug of space.

Descending the gangway, Obi-Wan breathed in the open air. He couldn’t call it “fresh.” The smells of a spaceport were the same everywhere: fuel, fumes, and hot metal, cut through with sweaty flight suits and ammo. He cast out his senses for the ones he sought: Rominaria flowers and jogan fruit, toothpaste and sweet-sand cookies.

He found her, and walked that way. How wonderful it was to find someone in a crowd of strangers, rather than to lose himself among them.

He was finding himself, too.

Sabé had settled on a relatively new lightweight freighter for her errand. As he placed his hand on the ramp supports, he sensed very little bloodshed had taken place over the years within...at least, it hadn’t yet. Perhaps this captain still strove to be above-board in her dealings. All the better for Sabé, he thought, though he didn’t doubt she could handle herself. Still, he’d feel better when she was done and he could lay eyes on her again.

“You feel overwhelmed,” said Qui-Gon.

“How could you expect me not to?” Obi-Wan retorted.

His Master chuckled, mirroring his position with arms folded as he leaned against the opposite gangway support. “I don’t expect anything of the sort. I _hope_ that you’ll embrace it.”

The truth of the matter was that he did. In a remarkably short time, Obi-Wan had grown quite attached to these feelings of hopefulness, of longing--attached with a fierceness even he hadn’t anticipated. This was what it was to love.

And to be loved in return. He’d felt it last night, with as much certainty as if she’d spoken the words aloud, and it had shaken him. Such wondrous alarm--he’d never expected to face it, much less to _want_ it. In sleep, his dreams had danced around home and family and wishes, always returning to Sabé.

Her footsteps clanged in heavy boots down the ramp as the captain called a farewell from the corridor. Obi-Wan looked up, but Qui-Gon had gone. Pushing himself off the support, he turned toward Sabé just as she stepped onto the duracrete where he waited.

Chin raised, she pulled two brand new comlinks from her pocket like a magician brandishing gold coins in a trick. “Untraceable,” she announced.

“Well done. And in short order.”

Sabé tried to purse her lips and maintain her proud expression, but her bright eyes gave her away, and she beamed at him, dimples flashing and nose scrunching. He made a mental note to kiss it the next time he saw that smile, in private.

"Now we don't have to worry about each other when you go away," she said, dropping one of the comlinks into his palm, fingertips brushing it, "and Dayne can resume calling the boyfriend she's not supposed to have."

"Perhaps we'd be better friends to Sim and Mari if we didn't facilitate illicit teenaged love affairs. And this won't stop me worrying about you," he added, softer, catching her hand after he'd pocketed his comlink. "But it'll reassure me to know you can call."

She nodded and squeezed his fingers.

 _Or you could just take her with you_. The thought brightened inside him, chasing away the shadows of doubt about whether he should keep Luke a secret from her. But it wasn’t time yet. She already bore too much, and this would be no gift.

“Are you certain about that?” asked Qui-Gon.

He wasn’t. But he couldn’t think about it now. Other shadows loomed, ones that stretched from the brightness of his love for her: doubt, jealousy, possessiveness. How did one find the balance, so as not to be consumed?

“I contacted the senator,” Obi-Wan told her as they walked together toward Nagpal, who they'd left tethered on the outskirts of the spaceport. “He’ll get word to your parents. Safely,” he added, seeing a flash of anxiety wrinkle her forehead. “He’s no fool. He’ll make sure nothing will implicate them.”

“Thank you,” she said again. But what he felt was _I love you_.

His cheeks warmed, and he rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand.

“There are no shadows out in the open,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “Remove the obstacles.”

“So…” Obi-Wan swallowed. “Once we have word that they’re safe, too...if you’d like, I could ask Bail to help you get off-planet. No slave ships or pirates this time.”

Sabé stopped. A Theelin knocked shoulders with Obi-Wan as she rushed past in a blur of violet and crimson, causing him to drop her hand.

“What I mean is," he hastened in response to Sabé’s confused gawking, "you...wouldn’t have to stay _here_ , necessarily. I would understand. There’s not much to lend itself to home and hearth on Tatooine. Nor to your considerable skills as a statesperson. Surely the Rebellion--”

"The Rebellion doesn't want me." Sabé pivoted to resume their walk to Nagpal.

On her heels, Obi-Wan began, "Saw Gerrera--"

"Yes, we've been over this. Who said _I_ want to join the Rebellion? Do you think after everything I've been through, I'm up to that?"

Obi-Wan was at a loss. _The Negotiator._ Sabé's distress eddied around him, muddling him as planetary disputes never had. His distress, too, if he was honest about his own feelings on the matter. If she left, he would understand--but he couldn't pretend it wouldn't re-break his heart. His hovel _shouldn't_ feel like home, but with her in it, it did.

She stopped again, so abruptly that he nearly barrelled into her from behind. Someone _did_ bump into him with a duffel bag as he pulled up short, uttered what was no doubt an expletive in her native tongue as she shouldered past them.

"A few weeks ago I could hardly set foot out the door without panicking," Sabé went on, a quaver in her voice. "And now…"

"Now you have options." He reached out for her, but let his hand hover near her shoulder, unsure whether his touch would be welcome or not. "That's all I meant, Sabé, I wanted you to know you have a _choice_ to stay or to go."

"We made a plan," she said, still not appeased. She looked away in the direction Nagpal waited, beyond the sunlit archway, her hands gesturing helplessly. "We came here to buy gardening supplies. I thought my choice was clear. But if that's not what _you_ choose--"

He grasped her shoulder, pulled her against him and kissed her forehead, her eyelids. "It is. It's all I want." His lips brushed over her cheekbone, the bridge of her nose. "I want you…" _to stay_ , but he couldn't get it all out before his mouth was on hers.

"Get a room, pal!" hissed another passerby, and Obi-Wan raised his head to see a Nikto in a flight suit regarding them from beneath sharply slanted horned brows before it stalked on.

Obi-Wan had seen couples kiss in public numerous times. Was it frowned upon? At the moment, he didn't much care. He turned back to Sabé and gave her another deliberate kiss.

“I won’t ask you that, ever again,” he promised. “I take everything back. Don’t listen to me when I say things like that. In fact, punch me in the face, why don’t you?”

She chuckled, her relief like an ebbing wave in the Force. “I didn’t realize you liked it so much when I did it before.”

“That was the first time you touched me on purpose,” he shrugged. _What a story to tell our children_ , he thought--and his heart jolted. Surely it was too soon to think--

“Incorrigible.” Her eyes shone again, and he wanted to punch himself for dulling them, even for those brief moments. He had much to learn.

“All I mean is that--well, I don’t want to presume, but...you’re staying for me. Is that--?”

Sabé responded by draping her arms around his neck and rocking closer to his body. His eyes fluttered closed; when he opened them again, she was all he could see. Around them, sparks flew from welding torches and soldering irons repairing heat shields and wing flaps,voices yelled from the tops of freighters and shipping containers, curses in Basic and a half dozen other languages flew from one pent-up shipman to the next preparing for their journeys. But on this scarred and stained duracrete, Obi-Wan Kenobi held his plan in his arms.

“But on the other hand...you’re staying for _me_.”

“Shh,” she whispered, and she kissed him.

Finally, a bleat from Nagpal beckoned them onward. Obi-Wan patted the eopie's snout as Sabé untethered him. "You think you want us, my fellow, but we're only going to make you carry things."

~*~

 _Divide and conquer_ , Sabé had told him, and he had to admit it was a good strategy. While Obi-Wan acquired the food staples and backup batteries for the emergency lanterns, she shopped for seeds, trays, and dirt to start the seedlings. Perhaps they’d be able to fit a few lengths of irrigation piping into the saddlebags, as well, though he didn’t expect that. This project would require several trips to the spaceport town.

Having purchased the basics, he spied an ammo dealer under a shabby tent. A decent one, by the size of the crowd. Sabé would want a cache of slugs for her rifles and plasma bolts for the blaster. If he was lucky, the dealer might even have a scope. Glancing behind him, he saw Sabé nesting their new trays and placing the seed packs inside. She’d move on to the soil next and would need help with that, so he’d best be quick.

As he waited under the burning suns behind a clutch of customers, he shifted his sackful of purchases higher on his shoulder and let his eyes wander across the storefronts and colorful sun shades protruding from the flat walls. There was the herbalist under his multicolored tent. Obi-Wan had seen thousands of such booths across the galaxy, many of them fraudulent, preying on the superstitious. The Ho'Din who operated this one wasn't above catering to that sort of clientele, offering plants to burn to frighten off bad dreams or to bless a newborn child, or to chew and calm the mind. The majority of his wares, however, were legitimate. Vials of tinctures to treat all manner of ailment stood lined up neatly in little blue bottles: remedies for headaches, rashes, tooth pain.

And he had contraception.

Obi-Wan’s heart thudded.

There was no denying his desire for Sabé--not to himself, nor to her. If they were in love, and she meant to stay with him...Then it was only a matter of time before such precautions would become necessary. Wasn't it? He didn't wish to presume...

"So you _did_ listen to my instructions," Qui-Gon said, appearing before him, the herbalist's tent visible behind the blue transparent form. "I always thought perhaps you ignored me because contraceptive knowledge was useless when the Code demanded celibacy."

Flushing, Obi-Wan turned to move forward in the ammo dealer's queue. "I never _ignored_ your teachings--just quietly disagreed with them."

"My memory isn't what it once was. I don't recall _quiet_ ever being a part of our disagreements."

Obi-Wan smirked. "We'll have to agree to disagree."

"I think we can also both agree there's a joke in your current circumstances. You, contemplating your, erm, _potency_ , while standing in line for--"

" _Don't._ "

"I didn't do nothin'!" snorted a Gamorrean ahead of him in the queue.

Obi-Wan apologized, and said no more until it was his turn to approach the dealer's table. A pale-robed, pale-skinned Twi'lek scanned him with bloodshot eyes that widened in recognition, then narrowed.

"Wait one karking minute--"

"You've never seen me before in your life," Obi-Wan said with a wave of his fingers.

"Never mind," the vendor replied, unconsciously rubbing the eye Obi-Wan had blackened in the alley during Sabé’s rescue weeks ago. "I've never seen you before in my life. You humans all look the same." He shook his head. "What can I set you up with?"

"Do you have cycler rifle slugs?"

The Twi'lek hissed, offended, and jerked his head at the human assistant who'd just finished with the Gamorrean customer. "You don't seem like someone who knows which direction to point a cycler rifle."

"I need a scope, too." Obi-Wan placed his money on the counter. "That's the part you aim through, isn't it?"

"Oi, Arula," grunted the Gamorrean, stumping back to the booth. "What time you off today?"

"Going to lunch in half an hour," replied the vendor.

"Buy you a drink? For your brother?"

Arula's pink eyes watered, and he nodded. "Much obliged, mate."

The scene was almost touching, but Obi-Wan had a bad feeling. "What happened to his brother?" he asked the assistant in a low tone as he plonked the scope and slugs on the counter.

Darting a glance at his boss, the assistant replied, "It was like Rondi lost his karking mind. Told Jabba he'd rethought his life and wasn't gonna deal for him no more." With a shrug, he added, "So Rondi was rancor fodder--"

" _You_ wanna be rancor fodder, peedunky?" In a swirl of lekku, Arula crossed the booth and seized his assistant's collar. He glowered over his shoulder at Obi-Wan. "Anything else?"

Ears ringing with the revelation, he scarcely heard himself ask for a blaster bolt cartridge, though his pack felt heavy as he shouldered it and left the booth. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring at the herbalist’s stall again until the Ho'Din gestured to him with his long fingers. His snakelike hair undulated in the hot breeze.

“Help you, my friend?”

Obi-Wan blinked as though the voice had awakened him. “Not today,” he said, turning at once to scan the crowd for Sabé. When he didn’t spot her immediately, he closed his eyes, pulse racing, until he found her.

Across the dusty street, she’d bought two bags of soil and now stood in a patch of shade, looking up and down the thoroughfare. When she spotted him coming toward her, her face brightened, and she swept her hands to indicate the treasures at her feet.

“Most impressive,” he said, lowering his sack to the ground gently so she wouldn’t hear the clank of the ammo and sight. “Did you get everything you wanted?”

“Nearly. Could you load up Nagpal while I find one more thing?”

She was gone before he could nod.

Fortunately for him, she’d parked her wares close enough to Nagpal that he was able to transfer them in three short trips. Never before had he asked the eopie to carry such weight in his packs. Stroking his snout, Obi-Wan promised extra food in his trough when they returned home. Nagpal nuzzled against his palm, brown eyes seeming to say that he didn't mind, and would do his best to bear the extra load.

His hand on the beast’s warm neck, he turned around to look for Sabé. This time, his gaze was drawn to her as if he were floating along a current. Tall and slender in her light-colored desert garb, she moved through the dusty market like a swan over a tranquil lake; she was, after all, of the Naboo. Even dressed as a peasant, in those heavy work boots, she carried herself with the same regalness that had never made him doubt for a moment she was the queen she claimed to be. The vendor she was haggling with (over what, he couldn't see) must sense her authority, as well, for at the arch of her eyebrows and tilt of her chin had him stooping to fill a sack with whatever it was she demanded, at a price that made her press her lips together against a smile.

Or perhaps, Obi-Wan thought, scrubbing his forefinger across his mustache, he wasn't the only man struck by her beauty. He silently blessed the breeze when it kicked up and blew her scarf back from her head, affording him a glimpse of her cheekbones, which were no longer alarmingly prominent, and the lithe curve of her throat, before she pulled it back into place over her braided crown and wound it to protect that fair complexion again. Her dark eyes flickered across the street to meet his.

Swallowing, he turned back to Nagpal, pretending to be busy adjusting the buckles and straps of the saddlebags.

The hollow of her throat shimmered with perspiration. He envisioned them back in the bright privacy of his hovel, his own lips pressed to the beating pulse.

A chirping sound, very close by, startled him out of the daydream. Nagpal's head swung back toward him, and Obi-Wan looked back at the eopie in confusion before a second chirp reminded him of the comlink in his pocket. He retrieved it, looking up where Sabé had been a moment ago, but was no longer, as he answered.

"You were staring at me," came her voice over the small speaker.

His face warmed at her teasing, gaze meandering through the market stalls for her. "How could I not? You're the loveliest woman in Mos Espa."

"Only in Mos Espa?"

He didn't hear her through the comlink now, but spun to see her regarding him from the opposite side of Nagpal's humped back. Curling strands of hair escaped her scarf, ruffled in the breeze. After she clicked off her comlink and slipped it into her pocket, she raised a hand to tuck them back into place.

Obi-Wan pocketed his own comlink and said, "Mos Eisley, too. And Anchorhead and Bestine." Her fingers moved to her lips, and she laughed softly behind them, clearly enjoying this. Emboldening him to add, "And I'm the lucky man who gets to take you home."

Flirting with her like this was heady. It was tempting---it would be so easy--to allow himself to forget that they weren't the only two people in the galaxy. That she, and the way he felt when he was with her, were all he need concern himself with.

"Are you ready to go now?" she asked. "I've got everything I came for."

Him, too. Much more than he'd imagined ever returning from town with. Certainly not that day six weeks ago when he'd entered Watto's junk shop to barter for vaporator parts, so despondent it hardly seemed worthwhile.

"There is someone I'd like to look in on," he said.

They led Nagpal to Watto’s shop, tethering him just outside while they passed through the archway into the relative cool.

Obi-Wan had to blink to adjust to the dim after being under the unrelenting suns for the better part of the morning, flashes floating across his field of vision as he swept the place for his young friend.

A wave of grief rushed at him, so powerful that he had to plant himself where he stood lest it topple him and pull him under. Someone whispered his name. A hand on his shoulder. But for several eternal moments he could not break free of it--a mother’s loss, unspeakable, without comfort.

His eyes flickered open--when had he closed them?--and found Sabé’s. She’d come to stand in front of him and was speaking his name. He nodded in reassurance, pressed a palm to her cheek, and resumed his search for Dojj past her shoulder.

There, the dark mop of hair in the back room. The boy sat on a stool, tinkering in silence at a workbench. Across from him sat his mother, hands lying useless on her lap. She wept, silently.

The whirlpool of grief deepened, swirling into nothingness, where not even light reached and some creature heretofore unseen could lure a drowning victim into its toothy maw. Obi-Wan had to kick to stay above the surface, away, away from _that_.

Dojj’s mother was alone in it. And neither he nor Obi-Wan could help her. The clink and scrape of the tool in Dojj’s hand nearly tore his heart from his chest.

"Shuddup, Nora!" came the gravelly voice of her master. "Stop your sniveling, it's bad for business."

At that, Obi-Wan felt Sabé recede, caught in an undertow of her own trauma. He tried to pull her back, but his hand was trembling. Watto flapped into view, hovering in the doorway to the back room, where the slave boy carried on with his repairs without raising his head.

"You drive my customers away, I'll have to sell you, too, is that what you want, hm? Look at the bright side. It was high time Cosi learned a trade." The Toydarian scratched his backside, then, without another word to his slaves, turned about in mid-air. His mouth shaped itself into the smile he fancied was charming, but was all gap-toothed greed. "What can I get you today, Ben? That moisture sensor hold up in the sandstorm?"

The tremor in his hand beyond control now, Obi-Wan sent wind gusting into the shop. Watto’s wings were powerless against it, and it tossed him into the back room. He skidded along the length of the worktable where Dojj and Nora sat, scattering tools and bits of equipment, until he crunched into the far wall and slid to the floor, unconscious.

Only then did Dojj raise his eyes, meeting Obi-Wan’s. “I told you, Mom. Wizard.”

But Nora didn’t look at Obi-Wan. She rushed around the table and caught her son in her arms, held him tightly, kissed his hair and his forehead again and again. Her tears fell freely now, her sobs filling the small space like awful, familiar music. The boy dropped the hydrospanner he’d been holding and wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist, surrendering to the safety of her embrace for as long as he could.

Aware that he was intruding on an intensely private moment, Obi-Wan turned away and trudged back through the door. He felt the brush of Sabé's fingertips at his cloak but kept his back to her as he reached to draw the hood back over his head. It was all he could do not to ask if if she was _certain_ about her commitment to staying. But he'd promised.

A promise was the only thing he had left to break.

~*~

The soil smelled fresh and rich. Like someplace else, far away from Tatooine. Like a promise--or at any rate, a hope.

They dug their bare hands in, and it clung in little clumps to the hairs on their arms, lodged beneath their fingernails as they filled the trays, made divots for the seeds, and covered them up again. Sabé did so as tenderly as a mother tucking her child into a cradle beneath soft blankets, Obi-Wan thought as he sat back in the shade of the eopie shed to watch her plant the last of them.

He mopped his brow on his sleeve, took a long drink from his canteen. After hours of silence on the ride home, and exchanging only a few necessary words about planting, he felt he could speak.

"When Jedi Initiates failed to pass their Trials and be apprenticed to a Master, they were sometimes assigned to the AgriCorps."

Sabé's eyes, the same earthy brown as the soil, flicked up to meet his, catching the glow of sunlight that had just slipped below the roof of the shed. "But you passed."  

Obi-Wan nodded. Perhaps it would've been better if he hadn't. He might've better benefited the galaxy getting his hands dirty in this way.

"And yet here you are," Qui-Gon said.

"Yet here I am," Obi-Wan echoed. For all the good it did anyone.

“What about Consitor Sato?” asked Qui-Gon. “Your rotation in the AgriCorp taught you how to use Plant Surge. That will do your crops good, and nourish you and your--” The slightest of pauses, followed by the most obvious of smirks. “--companion.”

“I never expected…”

Sabé watched him as keenly as Qui-Gon.

All the good he’d tried to do...had a way of turning on its head, sooner or later. Obi-Wan turned deliberately from Qui-Gon. It was time to tell her.

"The Twi'lek who attacked you…"

Sabé went still. Through her clinging sweat-drenched tunic, he saw the outline of stiffening muscles.

"Jabba the Hutt fed him to his rancor."

A sigh, and her eyes closed. Relief swelled over him from her, but he was immovable as stone.

“It was my fault,” he felt compelled to point out.

“He deserved it,” she said, eyes flying open. “How many people had he snatched before he tried to take me?” Her gaze dropped to the tray, where she'd dropped a couple of seeds. She spread soil over them. "One less person who can hurt Cosi."

"But there are so many more like him," Obi-Wan said. "So many more young women like Cosi…And that was my fault, too." At her look of confusion, he told her how he’d tried to compel Watto to treat his slaves better.

“He would’ve sold her anyhow, whether you’d interfered or not. Not every bad thing can be traced back to you, you know.”

It was as though she’d struck him, and her mouth opened, perhaps to amend what she’d just said. Obi-Wan looked away and took a sip from his canteen. She wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t right, either. He didn’t blame her for her bluntness, but he couldn’t explain his certainty without talking about Anakin, so he remained silent.

“What I mean is--"

"It's all right. You haven't said anything Qui-Gon hasn't told me a hundred times."

"Several hundred, at least,” said the ghost.

Sabé dusted off her hands and reached for Obi-Wan's. "You saved me. I'd be a slave now if you hadn't been there at the right time. If the flu hadn't killed me first. Which might've been a better fate."

It may well have been, but the idea of her not being here with him these past six weeks, or for the foreseeable future, choked him, like water filling his lungs as he sank like so much wreckage in the open ocean. But he met her gaze and saw the sunlight through the surface, gripped her hand and she pulled him ashore again.

"You saved me," Sabé repeated. "Twice."

"You saved me, too," Obi-Wan said. _I love you._

As though she’d heard what his heart whispered, her eyes softened and her mouth curled in a smile. Their joined palms, sweaty in the relentless heat, felt like one flesh, and for a wild moment he imagined that this was how it would be forever, the two of them bringing forth life where there had been none.

“Let’s get the seeds inside,” she said. “We need to water them in.”

They did so, in several silent trips, and Obi-Wan cleared off the table next to the front door to make room for the dirt-filled trays. Until they got their grow lights for the cellar, the seeds would benefit from the natural sunlight from the main floor’s windows. While he filled a pitcher, Sabé examined the items he’d set aside on the rug and dining table.

“I’ll stash those in the trunk later,” he said, stepping over the junk when he returned with the water.

“What _is_ all this?”

He chuckled as he leaned over the nearest row of seeds to water them. “The Wizard of the Wastes didn’t always warrant repulsorlifts. It’s been a slow progression.”

“These are from the Jawas?” She picked up a leather thong with a half-pouch dangling from the end.

"I always assumed that was a necklace," Obi-Wan told her as he watered the next row of seeds, "but it could be a weapon."

"Or it could be both." She quirked an eyebrow, and he mirrored her expression.

"Speaking as someone accustomed to being armed literally to the earlobes?" At the flash of her grin, he said, "Feel free to try it out."

"Maybe sometime when I've got the right outfit on."

"Doubtless it'll be a killer ensemble."

Rolling her eyes, she moved on to the next item, a screwdriver that held a variety of heads in its handle. “Don’t you use this?”

“I could, but it’s so pretty.” She looked up in time to catch him stifle a smirk. “Actually, no, I have used it. But it feels like it belongs with the rest of the collection, so I leave it there.”

“What on earth…” Sabé picked up the tiny spider-shaped bot.

“Oh, stars, put that down,” said Obi-Wan, shuddering. He sloshed a little water onto the table at the end of another tray.

“Why? What is it?”

“A little cleaning droid.”

“Sounds useful.” Judgment sharpened her voice, and he knew she was thinking of all the sweeping and dusting she'd done without a vacuum cleaner.

"Yes, well." He used the edge of his tunic to mop up the spill, then moved on to the next row of seeds. "I found its usefulness outweighed by its ability to unnerve me when I saw it skittering around from the corner of my eye."

"Battle flashbacks?"

Now she seemed more sympathetic. He could let her believe it reminded him of the countless battle droids he'd faced during the war, but it wasn't memories of being caught in barrages of plasma cannon fire that made him jump out of his skin.

"There _are_ some rather alarmingly sized and venomous species in the desert, you know," he confessed.

Sabé sniggered. "Doesn't the Force flow through all living things?"

"Spiders are of the Dark Side."

She put it down. "If you're going to make the cleaner droid for display only, you ought to at least make use of your rug beater."

"My what?"

She'd come to stand beside him, looking up at the wall above the table. Her arm bumped the pitcher as she reached to take the intricately twisted metal object down, then turned to him with dancing eyes.

"What I want to know is, how did the Jawas know you were the owner of two rugs? Did you have them round for tea and they went back to their sandcrawler and said, _Do you know what that crazy old wizard needs? A rug beater._ "

Obi-Wan was still goggling at the revelation that what he’d thought was a wall ornament was in fact a tool he could’ve used when the rest of her words penetrated his skull. "Did you just say _old_?"

"The Jawas did."

“ _Old_.”

“Old enough to recognize a rug beater. And yet.” She shrugged as though the situation were hopeless.

Obi-Wan heard a chuckle in the Force and resisted the impulse to bat it away. The voice was loud and clear, however. “You’ve met your match, young one.” _At least someone considers me young._

“Didn’t you have to clean while you were at the Temple?”

“Not if I could help it,” he replied as he watered the last tray. “And anyhow, rugs were superfluous. I never saw one until I was a Padawan.”

“That’s no reason to mistreat them now.”

“Mistreat them?" He set the pitcher on the table, then leaned back against the edge, arms folded. "You want to _beat_ them.”

Sabé's mouth opened, and Obi-Wan braced for her return volley. Her laughter rang out instead, and his with it, expelling any lingering motes of sadness as effectively as the wire contraption smacked the dust from his rugs. Even after they'd stopped laughing to catch their breath and rest their aching abdominals, flecks of their shared joy lingered, bright in the shafts of sunlight.

Replacing the rug beater on the wall hook, she said, "While we’re on the subject of gifts..."

He watched her pad across the living room and up the step to the side entrance, then return with her backpack.

"I'm not sure if any of this merits a place of honor among your Jawa offerings," she said, setting it on the table in front of the bed while seating herself in the chair, "but I got you a few things."

A hard thump in his chest stole his breath. Gifts. Sabé had bought him gifts. “You didn’t--”

“Shush.” Unzipping the pack, Sabé reached in, but then hesitated. “Sit down and close your eyes.”

Obi-Wan obeyed, lowering himself to the edge of the bed.

“Open your hands,” she said.

He did so, and soon felt her fingers place something weighty in them. The object was curved, and though he knew at once what it was, he paused to sense where it had come from. The craftsman took pride in his work, adding a hand-carved wooden handle to the wickedly sharp blade. He heard the laughter of children around a workbench, the call of a wife for him to come and eat his dinner. Something else, too--lovely words inside his head that struggled to break free. Was this man a poet?

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan breathed, at last opening his eyes. The straight razor was a far cry better than the dull thing he’d scarcely used until Sabé had shaved him. He unfolded it to admire the gleaming blade, hefted it to feel the exquisite balance, ran a thumb carefully along its edge. “It’s perfect.”

He raised his eyes to hers, and the pride and love he read in them made his heart stutter.

“There’s more,” she whispered.

Obi-Wan checked his impulse to protest. He wasn't accustomed to being given gifts, not of this sort. He must learn to receive, as he was learning to receive the gift of her love. Lessons of which he was grateful to be a student. It wasn't difficult, when he saw how joyfully she gave them.

He watched her reach into the bag again, saw the glimmer of amusement in her eyes, then closed his own again, extending his hands as she'd instructed him before.

At once he recognized the feel of a slim, crystalline holobook, though it had been such a long time since he'd held one. How could Sabé know of the countless hours he'd spent in the Temple library, losing himself in histories and folklore?

"The man said he’d cut me a deal on the razor if I bought a copy of his novel," she said, barely restraining a laugh.

Obi-Wan smiled--that explained the literary notion he'd had. But he still didn't expect to open his eyes and see the holographic image of a scantily-clad woman caught in the coils of a writhing serpent's tail.

" _Kiss of the Krayt_?"

Sabé's arms were wrapped around her middle as she shook with silent laughter. "I thought you could do the sound effects."

“Quite right,” he said with a grin. “We’ll read it aloud to each other.”

“Naturally.”

“Well, this is--”

“Bup bup bup!” She cut off his thanks, reaching her hand into the bag a third time.

There was _more_? He dutifully closed his eyes and opened his hands again, thinking ruefully of the slugs, scope, and blaster cartridge he’d bought for her. _Ever the pragmatist_ , Qui-Gon had often said. So had Anakin. He squeezed his eyes shut, released the thought through a sigh into the Force.

On his next inhalation, he caught a whiff of the same sweet smell Sabé had identified for him. Rominaria flowers. She placed the new bottle of moisturizer in his hands and he opened them to find her on her knees in front of him.

“I’ve used so much of yours,” she said. “Figured we'd need a new one soon.”

This time he gave her his thanks in a kiss, surrendered to the peace of gratitude even as he took his pleasure from her lips and tongue. When he drew back and saw his own desire mirrored in her eyes, he opened the lid and put a dab of the lotion on his fingertip. With reverence, he placed a bit under each ear, then trailed it from her throat to the hollow between her collarbones. She swallowed, her throat rolling under his touch. The scent of fresh earth all around, here was a flower blooming before him.

She sat back, procured from the pack a bottle of wine. "I'm not sure if it's any good."

"Bad wine's better than no wine, isn't it?" And he would taste it on her lips.

"If you've got a Jedi who can cure hangovers."

The bag contained yet more, a notebook with a soft leather cover. Obi-Wan didn't have a good track record with journaling, but he vowed to do better. He had something to write about, now. Things found, instead of only what he'd lost.

Finally, she'd bought a single jogan fruit.

He thanked her in words, murmured between kisses.

"You've given me so much," Sabé said, her hands covering his as he cupped her face. "I wanted to do something for you."

She'd done more for him than he could ever express gratitude for.

"I bought you something today," he said, drawing back. The delight that shone in her eyes tugged at him. "Don't get _too_ excited…"

He retrieved his purchases and found she'd assumed his place on the bed, eyes closed and hands open in her lap. He placed the ammo on the table, but knelt before her, as she had, and gave her the scope. Sabé examined it with her fingers, then her eyes flew open.

"A scope for my cycler rifle!" She noticed the other items on the table, incongruous with the wine and jogan fruit and decadent gifts she'd given him, but she didn't look the slightest bit disappointed. "And slugs!"

"Tokens of my affection," Obi-Wan joked. "Unconventional, but…"

But the sentiment was no laughing matter. Nor was the way she looked at him, lips parted in expectation, eyes shining with hope that he meant what he'd said. Or that he'd say what he meant.

"You have to know that I--" Sabé  began.

"Yes." Yes, he knew. He _felt_ it, the gentle call of her heart. _I love you. I love you._ And his own heart’s response.

Before he could think, or find a way to talk himself out of it, he took the scope from her hands and, placing it on her lap, drew her fingers to his lips and kissed them. A gift, and he would offer it without reservation.

He knew what happened when love was given too late.

“I love you.” His words dropped into her palms, as did his tears. “I love you.”

The Force leapt with her joy, a fountain in a palace garden, a spring in the desert. He rose with it, joining her on the bed, the words uttered back to him amidst kisses like water on parched lips. His tears continued to fall, and he let them--for didn't seeds require water to be nourished, and grow?--but he also let her wipe them away with the hem of her sleeve, the dampening cloth soothing flesh that had too long burned. Obi-Wan was done with the punishing suns, done with sickness and death and destruction. Now was the time for the warmth of nurturing care, of living, of moving on, even when that meant leaving something behind. A man must put away the tools that served him in childhood. A gardener had no use for a sword.

Under the covers together, they’d sleep. Their roots would deepen, and tomorrow they’d have grown a little bit more.


	17. Chapter 17

Green.

Tiny, round, bright green leaves protruded from the dark soil. Sabé’s heart did a somersault. She whirled to tell Obi-Wan that their balka greens had sprouted, but he still sat in the meditation pose he’d assumed while she watered their seeds. The Force would encourage growth, he insisted, so this had become the routine since they’d planted them four days ago. From the small windows, the morning light streamed across his shoulders like a mantle of gold; the rays wouldn’t reach the seedlings for another hour, as the suns continued their ascent across the sky.

Turning back to the tray labelled _Naboo lettuce_ , she saw yet more green. Her lingering smile made her cheeks ache, but she couldn’t stop. There were tiny sprouts of pink cabbage, too, and she had to resist running her fingers across their delicate leaves. It would take longer for the carrots, Bith beans, and brekka beets, perhaps a week, but they would appear soon. _Soon_. She could wait. She was good at waiting.

“Nice work,” she whispered to the plants.

“Thank you,” said Obi-Wan.

She shot a look at him, but his grin stopped her reproof before it reached her tongue.

Knees crackling as he stood, he came to her side. “Will you look at that.”

Sabé turned her attention back to the trays on the table but slid her arm around Obi-Wan's waist as his hand settled on her shoulder. "We're gardeners."

"You sound surprised."

She felt his gaze on her but didn't meet it. "I should've had more faith, like you. But it's been so long since any of my plans worked out…" She shrugged, and his fingers squeezed her shoulder.

"I confess I've had my moments of doubt, too. I'm re-learning how to trust in the Force." His lips brushed her temple. "To look for life."

"We don't have to look far anymore," Sabé said, grin spreading again. "It's right here on your display table."

Eventually, they'd have to relocate it to the cellar, but they had yet to build their aeroponic towers. That would require more trips to Mos Espa, as well as a way to transport the larger items--namely, the cistern--back home. Nagpal couldn't carry it all. A problem for another time. If their plants thrived--no, _when_ they were strong enough to be transplanted. They were both re-learning trust, though in Sabé's case, it wasn't in the Force.

"It's been a long time since I did anything worth taking pride in," she said, and Obi-Wan nodded. “Though Jedi aren’t supposed to feel proud, are they?”

“There’s a difference between pride and taking satisfaction from a job well done. The result speaks for itself and not for you.”

Sabé rested her head against his shoulder. Having an outward focus, one whose outcome they could affect, would surely do her good. Would do him good.

"Well, I'm not a Jedi," she said, "and I'm proud of you."

Obi-Wan didn't reply, but his deep inhale, followed by the slow release of his breath, communicated as clearly as speech could have. How long had it been since anyone had spoken those words to him? Anyone who wasn't a ghost, at any rate.

He'd never been told he was loved until _she_ told him. Though she’d known that Jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments, she’d nevertheless been surprised that no one, _no one_ , had ever uttered the words to him. Surely he’d been loved. Qui-Gon clearly adored him. Anakin must have, too, once. From what she'd observed of the Jedi, the bond between Master and Apprentice seemed like that of parent and child, or of siblings.

Perhaps it was through deeds and not words that they expressed affection. It seemed rather a silly distinction. If the feeling was there, what harm was there in saying so?

But it wasn’t for her to judge, and Obi-Wan--as possibly the galaxy’s last Jedi--had apparently decided that crossing that line no longer held the same taboo it once had. He loved her, and he _had_ said so. Her insides still buckled at the memory of him kneeling to offer his love to her as if it were a physical gift he could place in her outstretched palms. Nothing tangible could have felt more real than that, no gift more joyously received--except, perhaps, the gift it had been to see him accept her love in return.

That wasn't to say it wouldn't take some getting used to--for both of them. Just as plants required cycles of light and darkness, their growing love seemed to need moments of quiet, of separation, until they came back together again later, stronger and more nourished than before.

With another squeeze of her shoulder, Obi-Wan released her and went out to tend Nagpal and the vaporator while she started breakfast. Such was their morning ritual--though today they'd gotten started a bit late, having stayed up in stitches over _Kiss of the Krayt_ and then lingering in each other's arms after they'd awakened. It had almost been too hot by the time they rose to work on lightsaber forms, but they’d motivated each other to dress and shuffle outside. He wanted to teach as much as she wanted to learn. Today, as she went through the movements on her own, she spied him using a technique she hadn’t seen before. _The true student never stops learning_ , her mother had told her.

She'd always been after Sabé to learn more about cooking. What would she make of the half-dozen recipes she now knew for sand snake? Maybe, if Bail Organa reached her parents, Sabé would be able to tell her about this new skill.

As she flipped the snake sausage on the pan, a chirp made her jump. She turned down the burner and hurried to retrieve the comlink from the pocket of her jacket hanging on its peg next to the side door. When she clicked it on, Sim Starfall's voice crackled through the receiver.

“There’s a sandcrawler making its way toward you. Might be you could get some of your gardening supplies from the Jawas.”

Sabé thanked him and went to the window to see Obi-Wan making his way up a rise, hand over his eyes as he searched the horizon. “Everything all right with you?”

“Dayne says thank you again for her comlink.” Sim chuckled. “She was starting to wilt, I hate to admit it.”

Sabé laughed. “It was good seeing Mari and the girls again." They'd dropped by yesterday during their milk deliveries to see the plants. "We’ll return the visit soon, I promise.”

Shortly after their farewells, the tea was done, and she took a cup out to Obi-Wan and told him about Sim’s message--though he'd already sensed the Jawas. She should’ve put on her scarf; the suns, still low, burned her cheeks. Obi-Wan’s face appeared as flushed as her own must be as they went over their mental list of items they’d need for their tower garden. Finally they retreated indoors for his cloak, her scarf, and some druggats, coming to sit on the stoop to eat the breakfast Sabé hastily served onto plates while they waited for the sandcrawler.

They heard the growl of its engines before the rusty hulk appeared over the dunes. Although the sight of it didn't alarm her as it had the first time she saw a sandcrawler in the desert, Sabé's heart nevertheless raced as its passengers, faceless beneath their hoods, disembarked and Obi-Wan stood to meet them. He reached back to help her up, squeezing her hand in reassurance as though he knew her mind. Or sensed her emotions.

Even so, as she trudged after him, she struggled to accept that they had nothing to fear from the Jawas, or that in the unlikely event that trouble _did_ arise, she didn't need her blaster to deal with the small people...creatures...whatever they were.

Her discomfiture didn't lessen as she stood by and listened to Obi-Wan haggle with them. Perhaps this was simply because she didn't understand a word of the language. Whatever he was saying got them to bring out some scrap duraplast that would suit perfectly for their aeroponic towers. So much, in fact, that Obi-Wan had to wave his arms and quite aggressively bid them stop heaping it at his feet.

He threw an embarrassed grin over his shoulder at Sabé. "They don't seem to believe me when I say we don't have enough room for two dozen towers. And they keep refusing my offers of payment."

"Will they refuse payment for a second cistern, o Wizard of the Wastes?"

Obi-Wan turned back toward the clutch of Jawas opposite the pile of duraplast and made the request. The hooded figures huddled for a moment, speaking in a language that sounded different than the one they’d used with Obi-Wan. Apparently cisterns might warrant payment, given the amount of time they chattered in raised voices. Something about the exchange felt off-putting to Sabé, and she’d assumed a slight crouch as though one of the Jawas might leap from his circle and attack her.

“Not to worry,” said Obi-Wan in a mild voice, “it’s just the pheromones.”

She turned her head and stared at him. “The _what_?”

“Jawas use pheromones in a...linguistic way, from what I understand.”

“And how exactly did you learn this?”

“Through the Force.” He shrugged. “Do you feel skittish?”

“The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up,” she muttered, returning her attention to the small creatures. “Wait. The Force guided your senses to _pheromones_?”

“It sounds crazier when you say it out loud.”

“It sounds crazy because it _is_ crazy.”

“Point taken.”

Sabé tried to relax her stance. What a strange planet, with stranger life forms. No wonder he’d embraced the madman persona so readily. Now he fit right in. “And yet I love you.”

“Maybe it’s the pheromones,” he said with a wink.

Having reached an agreement, the Jawas turned their yellow eyes toward them. One of them addressed Obi-Wan in their shared pidgin language while two scurried back to the sandcrawler, descending the gangway a short while later carrying a metal cistern between them. She'd expected something rusty, like their vehicle, but black-streaked steel glinted in the sunlight.

“He says they scavenged that from a farm the Tuskens burned,” said Obi-Wan, quietly. “They’ll give us a good deal.”

Despite the heat, shivers skittered up Sabé’s spine. There was so much death here, and it seemed to faze no one. Well, she’d gotten used to worse.

The Jawas lowered the reservoir to the dusty ground, and she and Obi-Wan approached to examine it, which sent the Jawas back several feet. They really were frightened of him. As they spoke with each other in their bizarre language, Sabé’s hackles rose again. _It's only pheromones._ Still, so terribly unnerving. She’d be glad when their business here was done and they’d moved on.

Obi-Wan ran his hands over the metal, presumably to check whether it was sound. A furrow formed between his brows, and his cheek muscle flickered as his jaw tightened.

"What do you think?" she asked, expecting him to reveal some problem.

But he delved into his pocket for a handful of druggats and uttered gibberish that must have meant _We'll take it._ He glanced at her, the taut lines of his face relaxing as he smiled slightly. Sadness, she recognized after his expression had faded. "We won't get a better offer in Mos Espa."

"And we won't have to figure out how to transport it all home."

"Precisely."

Apparently as eager to be gone as Sabé was for them to be, the Jawas snatched up the money Obi-Wan placed on the ground and scurried back to the sandcrawler. One lingered and addressed him again, but when Obi-Wan declined, it, too, was off.

"He asked if we were in the market for any droids," he explained as they watched the gangway fold up to close the bay of the sandcrawler.

"And they were fresh out of cleaning spiders?"

"I nearly offered it back to them in payment," Obi-Wan replied, stooping to heft an armload of duraplast, "but I was afraid of insulting them. My diplomacy doesn't extend to Jawa trade language, I'm afraid."

Picking up her own load, Sabé said, "It's not your fault you don't have the right pheromones."

~*~

The unfamiliar form, Sabé found out the next morning when they trained, was called Niman, the Way of the Rancor.

“It’s more balanced than the other forms,” Obi-Wan told her, panting in between sips from his canteen as they rested, leaning against Nagpal's corral. “It contains elements of all seven, but in moderation. Some say it lacks any significant advantage--” Sabé didn’t have to imagine who might’ve said that. “--while others point out it lacks the drawbacks of the more aggressive forms.”

He offered her the canteen, and after she drank, she said, "I'd call that a significant advantage in and of itself. Are you thinking of adopting it as your fighting style?"

His eyes dropped to the hilt of the lightsaber he held, disengaged, in his left hand, but he raised them to meet hers when she gave back the canteen. "My days for lightsaber combat may very well be past."

Sabé winced at the softly uttered words. After a lifetime of training with the weapon he'd built himself, he wielded it as if it were an extension of his body. She understood why he couldn't use it except here, in secret, but Obi-Wan was a warrior, still in his prime. How it must ache to give it up, like the phantom pain of a lost limb.

"Niman feels right," he said, cheeks lifting in a smile. "I'd like to master it, whether I ever have occasion to fight with it or not."

Although Sabé knew that when Obi-Wan said something felt right, he meant in the Force, which was beyond her comprehension, she agreed that it felt good to move, to feel sure and strong again, even to clear her head. Maybe it wasn't so very different to his experience.

Returning his smile, she said, "Balance and moderation do sound like very Jedi qualities. As for me…never mind mastery, I'll be content to perform Shii-Cho with a training saber and a degree of competency."

"Drink up," said Obi-Wan as he passed the canteen back to her. "Then let's see it."

She took a swig, then resumed her earlier position a few yards from the eopie pen, from which Nagpal looked on as she went through the movements. Obi-Wan observed without comment her first time through the full form, offering a few pointers afterward--and words of praise. She began again, and this time he stopped her to make corrections, sometimes about her physical movements, others about her mindset. _Let go...Don't think, feel._  

After about the fifth time he'd stopped her, Sabé huffed and said, "You know, I could blame my mistakes on the distraction of having a sexy teacher."

Obi-Wan was already flushed from the heat, so she couldn't say for sure whether the flirtation made him blush. He did chuckle, but he said, "You could, except that I know you to be far too focused for such distractions, so I wouldn't believe you."

"Kark it, you're right," Sabé said, getting into position. There was a smugness to the pull of his lips below his mustache, so before she began, she added, "I do think you're underestimating your own sexiness."

That time, his reddened cheeks _did_ deepen a shade. He didn't say a word throughout the full routine, or even after she'd lowered her weapon and relaxed her stance.

"Well?" she asked. "How was it?"

"Flawless," Obi-Wan replied. Eyes twinkling, he added, "Although there's a chance I was distracted by the sexy swordswoman."

Shaking her head, she strode to him and gulped from the canteen he held out for her to take. A little bit dribbled down her neck, but it felt good in the heat. Brandishing her training saber in the other hand, she said, "Shall I go again?"

His face lit up at her enthusiasm, but he said, "In the name of balance and moderation, we should probably call it a day and go in out of the sun." He caught the end of her scarf and wiped her sweaty brow, the hollow of her throat.

Once inside, they peeled off layers of clothing and gulped more water as they paced around to cool down tense leg muscles. Obi-Wan disappeared to check the water level in the second cistern they’d installed, returning with a slight shake of his head.

Sabé’s heart stuttered. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he assured her. “But it’s going to take a long time to fill. At this rate, the seedlings will be ready to transfer before we have enough to begin irrigation.”

He’d told her that his vaporator might harvest enough to meet the daily requirements of two  adults, with a little extra in the reservoir for the garden if they used less.

“So what do we do?” Sabé asked.

~*~

_Drip...drip...drip…_

In another lifetime, the repetitive sound of dripping water would've been maddening, a leaky tap in need of a plumber. Sabé did feel her sanity erode with every small splash, her mind reshaped like a rock formation in an underground cave, yet she was grateful for a noise not made by herself to break the dead silence of the cellar. Water was life, and a second cistern was filling with it, drop by drop. She listened to it, the audible passage of time, like a ticking clock, the scratch of hatch marks into an earthen wall.

Obi-Wan lay like a corpse in the cellar, hands folded across his abdomen, chest motionless beneath the loose light-colored shirt--for in the hibernation trance, he required nearly as little oxygen as water. Several times she'd thought he looked so alarmingly dead that she leaned close to his face. No breath emitted from nostrils or parted, blue-tinged lips, but she felt the hint of warmth. It was the only thing warm about him, his skin cool when she pressed her hand to his neck, his chest, his wrists. She felt her own pulse and imagined his, buried deep, keeping slow tempo with it and the _drip...drip…drip_ of the cistern.

He'd assured her he'd be fine--he'd done this before, _before her_ \--yet it was difficult to believe, when his fingers didn't curl around her own in response to her taking his hand. The tips of them were blue, as were his toes. She resisted the impulse to take them between her hands and rub warmth into them, for keeping his body temperature low to lessen the need for water was rather the point. Even though she shivered in the nest of blankets she'd made beside him, unable to sleep alone in the bed upstairs, she restrained herself from draping her arm, her leg over him, but kept vigil without touching.  

No matter where Sabé roamed in the house, or outside practicing Shii-Cho, his presence was _there_ , below ground, as if she’d buried him. In her dreams, she placed a lighted candle on his chest, a poor substitute for the Eternal Flame in Livet Tower on Naboo. During waking hours when she watered the seedlings, she reflected that their growth was nurtured by the fertile grave from which they’d germinated. As she nibbled at the meat pie Mari had brought yesterday, she couldn’t help thinking of the visitation of family and friends, other mourners coming to feed the bereaved and pay respects--though the Starfalls couldn’t have known that “Ben” wasn’t away from home but downstairs, feigning death in an effort to conserve water.

It seemed natural that Sabé’s thoughts would turn to the others she’d truly lost. The ghosts of Padmé and Moteé and Dormé danced through the house, whispering words she’d thought long forgotten. They slept next to her in the black cellar and joined her for meals. She began to hear their laughter--and a baby's--and, once, Moteé’s singing, a Naboo lullaby Sabé's own mother used to sing. Did Qui-Gon hear them, see them, in whatever unseen realm he inhabited?

She found herself weeping throughout the long, lonesome days and returning to Obi-Wan’s side to kneel with her eyes closed as tears coursed down her cheeks. Without knowing it, she’d folded a scrap of paper into the shape of a bird and burned it, scattering its ashes into a bowl of water next to Obi-Wan’s motionless elbow. Wasteful, the tears and the bowl, she knew, but this was a period of mourning, as belated as it was; she hadn’t the time or safety to do it, until now. She gathered the prettiest weeds she could find from the hillside below the hovel and laid them around Obi-Wan’s head, imagining she wove colorful flowers through Padmé’s hair. _Drip_ ... _drip_ ... _drip…_ Her tears fell to the bedroll on which he lay.

Over the long nights her dreams continued to be consumed by flame. Soon a dark figure appeared, bursting with light, and so much pain that she struggled to wake, to escape it. _It's just a dream_ , she told herself, possibly aloud--her throat ached from tears and thirst. But the molten river pulled her under, the stones tied to her ankles assured her death. It was time at last for her to die, too, like the rest of them. Such an easy promise to keep. Perhaps she'd been dying all along, and this was part of her fever dream. Even now, Obi-Wan still gave her water. What had she given _him_?

Panic bared its teeth, held her fast in its coils, pulling her deeper until she no longer saw the light dappling the surface of the water, down, down, to devour her in a deadly kiss. Her gasps for air sliced through the silence of the cellar, and she sat up, lashing out with both arms until she knew she was awake. And alive, little as she deserved it, because Obi-Wan had saved her. She'd promised him she'd stay. She'd given her word. _Love. I love you._ Her heart beat the rhythm of it, until it slowed once more to the _drip...drip...drip…_

The cellar was too dark to see anything, but she turned her head in the direction of the sound. Felt the floor beneath her, pushed up from the tangle of blankets and stood. Stretched her hands out on front of her as she shuffled across the room--it felt like the expanse of the galaxy--until her palms pressed to cool steel. Her eyes welled again as she thought of the burned-out homestead it came from.

"You are one with the Force...the Force is with you," she whispered, as Obi-Wan had over the wrecked speeder after the sandstorm, and then rapped her knuckles against the curved barrel.

A deep tone rang out, a ceremonial gong in a temple or a chime from a clock tower or  echoing through the city, calling everyone to a funeral, a wedding, the blessing of a child.

Sobbing, she pressed her forehead to the full cistern. At last she could wake him. "Life is everywhere,” she said more loudly, “if you know where to look."

She looked to the bed on the floor, where in the darkness she heard Obi-Wan stir. Behind her, light. A universe exploding into existence: the bioluminescent creatures long buried in the earthen walls. He lowered his hand with eyes still closed and stretched, until he found the weeds she'd heaped around his head.

"You had a funeral for me," he said, as if it weren't the strangest thing she could have done.

Sabé choked on a half-laugh. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she thought of telling him about the ceremonies she’d performed for her Queen and fellow Handmaidens, but she hadn’t the strength. “You hungry?”

“Famished.”

“Stay there.”

He hadn’t moved when she returned with a lantern, a plate of simple food--sliced bristlemelon and flatbread--and water. She sat next to him while he turned onto his side, pushing up on an elbow to take the cup with the slightest tremor in his fingers. He drank half and set it aside to reach for the fruit.

She waited until he’d had a few slices before she spoke again. “How do you feel?”

“I had the strangest dreams.” He sat up fully, back cracking, and drank the rest of the water. “You?”

“I missed you.”

His slow smile might’ve been weary, but it was the brightest thing she’d seen in a week. He placed the empty cup on the floor, and the backs of his fingers brushed her cheek. Sabé leaned into his touch, then took his hand and drew it away to examine his fingertips. Normal pinkish flesh beneath his fingernails again. And so warm. She pressed her lips to them, hungry only for him.

"I'm sorry you were alone," he said. "If there had been any other way…" His gaze drifted over her shoulder to the full cistern, the smile fading into the expression he'd worn the day the Jawas sold it to them. He lowered his hand. "You deserve better than this. More than constant reminders of death."

But did she? Her fingers trailed through the arrangement of dried weeds, a pathetic approximation of a proper funeral wreath. And the things she’d done…

“I dreamed about Vader,” she said without meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes. She picked up three stems and began to braid them. “Not Vader. Anakin.” Across from her, his body stiffened. “I couldn’t escape him. He burned. But he was so... _bright_. It hurt.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw a nod. “That’s--” His voice caught.

 _That’s how he was_ , she knew, and the pain still burned bright inside Obi-Wan. She raised her gaze to see tears on his cheeks. His hands lay in his lap, the rest of the food untouched on the plate. For him, the funeral had never ended.

“I dreamed,” he whispered through a tight throat, “about a Queen and her Handmaidens.”

A sob rocked her. She looked down at the plait, could almost feel the silky strands of Padmé’s tresses sliding through her fingers. She brought it to her lips and kissed it as she wept.

"It should've been me. I was the decoy. I was the one who was meant to die, not her. She was going to be…"

She wrung the braid in her hands, remembering how much thicker and more lustrous Padmé's hair had become in the glow of pregnancy. How she'd concealed her swelling belly beneath voluminous gowns, yet in the privacy of her apartment, there had been no secrets from the Handmaidens. She'd always had an arm around the bump, had even grabbed Sabé's hand and pressed her palm to it so she could feel the baby's movements in her womb.

Padmé's baby had died with her.

“It should’ve been me,” Sabé repeated.

"No."

Through her tears, she saw Obi-Wan shake his head, then felt it against the top of hers as his arms went around her and pulled her to him. _No,_ what? It should _not_ have been her?

"I love you," he murmured. "I want you here. With me."

If she'd died, then he'd be alone, it was true, and she didn't want that.

"I want to be here."

She'd promised.

She'd promised Padmé, too, but the Empire had taken Sabé away against her will. And Dormé and Motée. Why had she been the one to escape?

"But how can I move on? How can I be happy?" The thought squeezed her chest, tighter, for it was _betrayal_ she meant, wasn’t it?

“I know,” he said, lips and beard brushing her forehead, “I know. I made a life of punishing myself. How could I still live when I’d failed--”

Anakin? Everyone?

She nodded against his cheek. She knew. But things were different now. She drew back to look into his eyes, took his face in her hands, the woven braid between her fingers tucked behind his ear. “You have to live.” _For me_.

He looked back, pulse pounding steadily beneath the fingers tucked just under his jaw. “I will,” he promised.

“I will,” she echoed.

Their kiss, slow and tender, settled it.

The rhythmic _drip_ ... _drip_ ... _drip_ went on. Before long, they’d need to disconnect the spare cistern and reattach the pipes to their original water reservoir. They'd sacrificed, and whether they deserved it or not, they would reap the reward.

~*~

Tea had never seemed such a luxury as it did today. By the time the suns had risen, Sabé had served two plates of leftover meat pie, fruit, more flatbread, and tea with an actual spoonful of sugar in each mug. Obi-Wan’s appetite was greater than she might’ve expected, and he claimed to feel “refreshed,” despite his drawn appearance and sluggishness. But the glimmer in his eyes made her wonder if he wasn’t just teasing. Were all Jedi were as inscrutable as this one?

After he’d broken his week-long fast, she led him to the trays of seedlings, which now stretched several inches tall and leaned toward the windows. Nearly all the seeds had sprouted, and if most of them survived the transfer to the tower gardens, they could expect a bounty come summer.

"Mari was really impressed," Sabé told him. "She asked what our secret was. I almost felt guilty playing dumb and saying we must just have green thumbs when there's so much wizardry involved."

Obi-Wan chuckled as he leaned over the row of pink cabbage, which looked like perfect blossoming roses. "If only she'd known what I was doing in the cellar."

Sabé had imagined a number of scenarios involving Mari finding an apparently dead man in the cellar, none of which were entirely amusing. At least not at the time. Truth be told, she didn't like repaying the Starfalls' friendship with lies, even if they were necessary. "She wanted to see our setup down there."

"How did you keep her away? I imagine she was...tenacious."

"I told her we haven't installed the towers yet and I'd rather keep it a surprise till we're finished," Sabé replied with a shrug. "But she did tell me we'd better hurry up, because they'll be strong enough to transfer soon."

“Then we’re right on track.” He lowered himself to the edge of the bed, face suddenly pale. At Sabé’s expression of alarm, he shook his head. “I’m fine, just lightheaded. Sit with me?”

She did, but found herself unable to continue chattering about their garden.

“I’m _fine_ ,” he repeated. “Come now. What do we need from Mos Espa?”

Looking away, she felt his eyes on her as she scanned her mental list. “A pump, irrigation piping, grow lights, nutrients for the water... Hang on, I need to write this down--”

But as she rose to retrieve the kitchen notepad, Obi-Wan caught her hand and pulled her onto his lap, latching his arms around her waist and covering her mouth with his, and before long all thought of lists had flown from her mind.

“I believe you now," she said when they paused for breath. "You _are_ fine.”

“I’ve gone without for a week,” he murmured, a note of longing in his voice that stirred up the same in her.

“So have I,” she reminded him, and captured his mouth again.

He kissed like a starving man, his lips and tongue rough against hers, hands grasping her hair or cupping her jaw to keep her close. Straddling him, Sabé could no more have stopped rocking against his pelvis than she could’ve stopped kissing him. _Deeper_ , a voice inside her insisted, _deeper_ , a mad, mindless bodily command that she felt more powerless to refuse with each thrust of her hips. Through half-lidded eyes she could see the glaze of her own desire reflected in his, the flush of his cheeks, the strange determination in his brows--for what? Resistance? Or pursuit?

Was she even certain what she was willing to do today?

But when his hands moved to her hips to crush her more firmly against him, her involuntary groan reminded her that there were things beyond her reckoning. How could she possibly give them due consideration when his mouth was on her neck? She moaned again, his tongue flickering against the vibration of her voice, and his own wordless pleasure rumbled against her palms where they rested against his sides. Through his shirt, her fingers traced the solid protrusions of his ribs, the gaps in between.

 _Deeper_ , that voice said again, so she slipped one hand beneath the hem so she could feel _him_ , his flesh, not the fabric. He hummed low against her throat and hooked his thumb over the waistband of her leggings to skim her hipbone with the calloused pad. In response, she rocked against him again; her moan choked off into a whimper of frustration when his hand left her hip--but it was only so he could grasp the hem of her tunic and tug it upward.

Her hands left his torso to peel off the garment and shuck it onto the floor, then reached for him again with the intent of helping him to shed his shirt. But she was impeded by him lowering his head to nuzzle at her breasts, breath and tongue so hot as he explored the valley between them. One hand splayed across her back, holding her upright, fingers slipping beneath the band of her bra. She writhed in his lap, wishing to the stars he'd undo the hook. The scrap of cotton scratched her prickling skin, was too restrictive as her nipples peaked against it.

When at last his mouth covered her nipple, the heat of his breath and the wetness of his tongue seeped through the cotton as though it wasn’t there. Teeth and lips nipped at her sensitive flesh through the fabric until her eyes fluttered closed...and then he turned his attention to the other nipple. She raked her fingers through his hair, wanting him never to stop, wishing his body could be closer.

As though he’d sensed her desire, he quickly tugged his shirt off and tossed it over her shoulder with hers on the floor. When he pressed his chest to hers, skin to skin, they both had to stop and stare, breathing together against each other’s mouths in shock at the sensations the contact had triggered. The pounding from within her pelvis felt as though it would shatter her if she didn’t _do_ something, press harder, faster. She reached between her legs toward him, knowing but not knowing where her fingers would land--

And he grasped her wrist. For several long seconds he merely held it between their torsos, his eyes shut as though concentrating very hard--resisting? Surrendering? His breath came in ragged, shuddering hisses between his teeth, until he slowly brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. She wanted to whimper, and thought he was about to, by the way his eyebrows drew together when his tongue traced her pulse point, followed by his lips crushing to her skin again as though he would devour it.

Her head tilted back, and so did the room, for suddenly he’d shifted and lowered her to the bed, covering her with his body and moving into her, hitching one leg up beside his hip as he dug his fingers into her backside to bring her closer, closer. So close now, and they weren't even fully undressed. But she couldn't tear her mouth from his or remove her clinging hands from his shoulders. She wasn't sure if hung onto him to keep from falling from a height, or to stop herself coming apart…

And then she heard her own voice cry out as both things seemed to happen at once. A wave had swelled up without her being quite aware of it and crashed into her. She blinked up at him in surprise as it swept her along, cresting and falling again and again, and she saw her expression mirrored in his--for just a moment before he was straining against the same overpowering current until it caught him, too, and they lay, gasping and spent, in each other's arms, two shipwreck survivors washed up on the shore.

Had that just happened? Had she and Obi-Wan really just brought each other to sexual release? Half-clothed, and in the middle of making a gardening shopping list? All the physical evidence certainly indicated so: her underwear damp with her own want, their drumming hearts and heaving lungs beneath bare skin slick with mingled sweat, the tickle of his breath. Sabé didn't want to be anywhere but beneath the warm weight of him, and thankfully, he hadn't tried to move it off her yet. She'd loved the firmness of his body as his muscles tightened with the mounting tension, but now she reveled in it being slack against her. Hers relaxed, too, unbound at last after years of being tightly coiled.

The release wasn't only physical. Inside, the knot of grief and guilt had been loosened by having at last mourned.

At the crown of his head, the elastic band that had held his top-knot hung by a few disheveled strands. Sabé pulled it out and combed her fingers through the red-gold waves.

With a long huff in the curve of her neck, a brush of his lips over her clavicle, Obi-Wan raised his head.

"Well, that was..." He let the thought dangle, gaze drifting over her head as though he might find the word he was searching for written on the wall.

"Unexpected?" Sabé prompted.

His eyes dropped back to her face. "That...isn't what I was going to say." One hand went up to rub his jaw as his forehead buckled in an expression of concern. "It wasn't, was it?"

“Not unexpected. Just...sudden.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not the word, either.” She meant _easy_ , or _natural_ , but could she confess that to him yet? How did people navigate these waters?

Obi-Wan tugged his hand from beneath her rump and traced the bare skin of her hip. “I suppose,” he said, his eyes soft, “we’re due for a talk about expectations. But first I probably should...” Trailing off, he gestured vaguely toward the ‘fresher, cheeks aflame but wearing an odd expression. Was it satisfaction? Pride?

He _had_ made her feel...incredible. That was something to take pride in.

As he disentangled himself and padded out of sight, grabbing clean clothes from his trunk as he went, she allowed herself her own smile before reaching for her discarded top. The sonic shower came on. After she’d dressed, she picked up the shirt he’d worn for the past week and inhaled his scent. Familiar and male and _him_ , it aroused her again. She lay it atop the trunk to add to the hamper and sat next to it, staring around the room for something to occupy her thoughts besides what they’d just done.

The seedlings needed watering, so she got up and filled the pitcher, glad not to worry about the amount she used. The shower turned off just as she returned to the trays, and her heart inexplicably began to pound. What if their “expectations” weren’t aligned? Should she tell him about her contraceptive implant? Or was all of this too sudden for him? Should she worry that it was too sudden for _her_? Maybe she'd misinterpreted the entire situation...Perhaps she should've had _more_ restraint…

But _kark it_ , when had she last felt so _good_? When had he? And why shouldn't they?

She'd returned the empty pitcher to the kitchen when Obi-Wan emerged from the 'fresher. Dressed in clean clothes and his hair tied back once more, he smiled at her and his eyes exuded more of the calm she was accustomed to from him, a gentle lake, and looking into them steadied her.

"Do you mind if I lie down?" he asked.

The corner of her mouth twitched. Worn out from their _activities_?

"Hibernation meditation isn't exactly as restful as one might imagine," he explained, as if she'd asked.

Her heart swelled at what he'd sacrificed. "Do you want me to lie down with you?"

The crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened, smile curved a little more on his lips. "I always want you with me."

And so, though Sabé wasn't the least bit sleepy, she found herself back in bed, beneath the covers, legs tangled with his, waiting for his breathing to deepen and his heartbeat to slow as he drifted off to sleep.

Instead, his breath was accompanied by words. "I didn't wish to presume what you wanted."

She opened her eyes to find him watching her intently. A puff of laughter escaped her. “I could’ve said the same about you.”

“Let’s talk about you first.”

 _Fair enough_. She raised her eyebrows.

“You said you’d never kissed a man before me."

She nodded.

Obi-Wan looked like he was about to reply, but he hesitated. Taking her by the wrist, he gently brought her arm above the covers and pushed up her sleeve to trace his fingers along the darkened skin of her forearm.

“This is a defensive wound," he said, "and recent. Some sort of electrobaton, I’m guessing.”

The inside of her chest twisted. He must have sensed it, because he locked eyes with her, waiting for her response. “It was.”

“I…” He shook his head and started again. “My own desires shouldn’t force you to relive...any trauma.” He spoke the words so quietly that she wouldn’t have heard them if they hadn’t been face-to-face.

Had he somehow felt what had happened to her? When he’d nursed her back to health? When her body and all its scars had been laid bare to him, and he’d had nothing but time to wonder?

As ashamed as she was of what she’d done--what she’d _had_ to do--she needed to tell him, or he’d assume…

“These scars,” she began, bringing her other arm out and lying on her back to examine them, “happened when I escaped from Saw Gerrera’s base.”

“It wasn’t a Trooper?” He sounded almost relieved, and why shouldn’t he be? He’d known Troopers. Some of them had been his friends. Until they weren’t anymore.

“No, Troopers aren’t conditioned for that sort of...aggression.” She ran her fingers along the thickened skin as she remembered Captain Panaka’s mantra about what to do if she was unarmed but her attacker wasn’t: _Sacrifice a limb, save a life_.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a breath and forced herself to continue. “This was just a man in the Rebellion. One of Saw’s. He said he had orders to transfer me to a new cell. But he steered me to the showers, and it was dark, and we were alone.”

Obi-Wan followed the trail of her fingers over the same swath of skin, waiting.

“He tried,” she told him. “But I…” Tears welled. “I stopped him.” She still saw the stranger’s brown eyes, unseeing, as he lay on the cold tile while she tugged a sleeve from his limp arm.

There was a rush of relief in Obi-Wan’s exhale, but he kept hold of her forearm, wrapped his fingers gently around it.

“I took his uniform, his weapon. And a starship.”

"So that's how you escaped."

His thumb stroked over her skin, the sensation of it dulled by the scar tissue. He didn't reassure her about the measures she'd taken, but neither did he judge her for them. Her own conflict over the matter could wait for another day. At any rate, perhaps now he’d understand why the Rebellion wouldn’t want her.

"You were a captive for so long," he went on. "And even after, surrounded by such unsavory sorts. The way you contracted the flu in the first place..."

It was a miracle she'd experienced nothing more traumatic than a few close calls.

And that the last one had led her to him.

Obi-Wan continued to stare until Sabé felt obliged to fill the silence. "I've never been with a man. By force or by choice."

"I know. I'm trying to imagine that you'd choose to be with me."

He was still holding her arm as she rolled onto her side again and she brought her hand up to his cheek, his beard. "You don't have to imagine it."

She felt his smile against the heel of her hand as he turned his head to press his lips to it, then downward along the web of scars. Her eyelids fluttered shut at the tenderness behind his touch. Stars, how could she not want him?  

When he leaned back, clasping her hand on the bed between them, she said, "Can I ask you a question now?"

He _hmm_ ed.

"Do the Jedi…?" Her gaze flickered from his, cheeks warming. She bit her lower lip, then began again. "People know so little about you. They used to say you...took vows of chastity. Is that true?"

His mouth quirked. “It’s not a vow. But some chose to live that way. I did.” He fell silent again, but Sabé sensed he meant to go on. "I believed it was the most compatible way to live and uphold the principle of non-attachment. Separating intercourse from emotional attachment felt...wrong."

Sabé’s breath caught in her throat at his use of the past tense, but she had to ask. “And now? I don't want you to do anything that feels wrong or….violates your beliefs.”

"When the galaxy changes, so must we. And our beliefs. Qui-Gon always felt that the Jedi Council clung to old dogma. If I'd understood that sooner…"

She wasn't the only one with regrets. With more conversations for other days.

At the squeeze of her hand, he returned to her. "I love you. I want to love you in every way. _That_ feels right to me. But...I have much to learn."

So did she. "We have time."

Obi-Wan nodded, then she saw a glimmer in his eye as he said, "I didn't think that would happen so quickly, for example."

Again, Sabé wasn't certain whether he was joking or not--which may have been the joke. They chuckled softly together until his laugh was carried off in a yawn and he blinked at her slowly from the pillow, lids drooping lower. His breathing and the stroke of his thumb over her hipbone had a hypnotic effect, and she thought she might actually become drowsy enough to fall asleep, too, until sleep claimed him and the motion stopped.

Wide awake, she lay as still as she could so as not to disturb Obi-Wan--he looked so peaceful, the furrow which frequently creased his brow even in slumber relaxed--but her own limbs twitched for activity.

When she was sure he was sleeping deeply enough for her to slide out of bed without rousing him, she did. To her amusement, he huffed out a long sigh and flopped over onto his stomach, appropriating her side of the bed. It had been a while since he'd had the whole thing to himself. She stooped to feather his hair; he didn't stir. She danced on tiptoe across the living room to the hall, grabbed boots, scarf, and rifle, and sneaked out the side door.

As she sat on the step to tug her boots on, she was a little surprised to see the suns still hadn't climbed to their zenith. So much had transpired since Obi-Wan woke from his hibernation trance that it seemed like it should be much later. They had time, indeed--today, and all the days. Sabé's grin stretched as she would her scarf around her neck and slung her rifle over her shoulder. Filling the long hours seemed more like a promise than a problem. She paused by Nagpal's shelter to scratch his forehead and kiss his muzzle.

"Wish me luck, boy," she said. "I'm off to see what I can find for dinner. Something other than sandhawk would be nice…"

The eopie mooed after her as she continued down the hill, and she threw back over her shoulder, "Yes, I'll see if I can find anything tasty for you, too."

But the twin suns climbed, and so did the temperature, without even a hawk's wings passing over to provide momentary shadow. Sweat rolled down Sabé's neck, plastering her bra uncomfortably to her back, and the glare was beginning to make her temples pulse. Time to head home. She could set a minnow trap, but in the heat of the day a snake would be unlikely, so probably best to make do with whatever they could concoct from the cellar bins.

She bent to pull up a clump of coarse grass growing between rocks to take back to Nagpal, when she glimpsed movement in her periphery. Slowly, she turned, raised her rifle, and peered through the scope. A long-eared creature camouflaged by the scrubby terrain nosed in the dust. Once before she'd seen one of the rangy animals, which Obi-Wan had identified as a jakrab. She'd tried to shoot it, but its ears pricked at the slightest sound and it had rocketed away before she could even put her finger on the trigger. She fully expected a repeat today, but nevertheless held her breath and aimed.

The shot rang out, a lightning crack through the valley. She saw the jakrab's ears fly upward and thought for sure it leapt out of the way in time, but then it let out a strangled yelp and there was no more movement in the dust. Hardly believing her luck, she scrambled to it and sure enough, she'd gotten it with a clean shot.

She slung her rifle over her arm and picked the jakrab up by its ears. In death it was longer than it had appeared in a crouch or when darting over the dunes. Rather than drag it, she draped it over her shoulders like a lady’s formal wrap, then she turned and began the hike back home, retrieving the grasses she’d procured for Nagpal along the way.

The suns were high and her shadow small by the time she made her way, sweating and panting, to the house. Even Nagpal had sought shelter under his slanted roof. But someone did wait for her.

Framed within the dark doorway stood Obi-Wan, his elbow leaning against the frame. His light clothing and hair reminded Sabé of the gold-painted goddesses she’d seen in Naboo’s Royal Gallery, the ancient paper crumbling under specially treated clari-crystalline, the light dim, the humidity within the display case kept at a precise level to prevent deterioration.

When he saw her, he drew upright, a grin spreading across his cheeks as he descended the steps. Then he caught sight of the beast she carried across her shoulders and his grin transformed; _l_ _ascivious_ was the word that leapt to her mind. She felt not unlike the Jawas, bringing offerings to the Wizard of the Wastes--only she knew what sort of worship this god longed for. The same kind she did.

Apparently, this was how people fell in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It sounds crazy, but [Jawaese](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Jawaese/Legends) really does involve pheromones, at least according to the Legends section of the Wookieepedia. We draw from the Legends as we see fit, and obviously, this is the kind of detail we consider fit. ;) [Hibernation trances](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Hibernation_trance) are really a thing, too. 
> 
> As always, thanks so very much for continuing to follow this story. - Brat and Tater


	18. Chapter 18

“They may not look like much,” said Obi-Wan as he and Sabé regarded the two five foot cylinders propped against the cellar wall where the tic marks were carved, “but they’ll do the job.”

Now lined up along three walls, the hodgepodge collection of plastic they'd acquired from the Jawas appeared even more mismatched than when it had been piled at the foot of the stairs.

“They’re here to grow food, not win beauty contests,” she replied, nudging his shoulder with hers. “I think they’re perfect. Does this arrangement work for you?”

He _hmm_ ed his approval, then raised a hand to draw on the Force. As he levitated the tower nearest the steps, Sabé climbed up, strung thick wire through holes she'd drilled through the top of the cylinder, and hung it over the exposed plumbing pipe with room above to connect the water lines once they bought them.

When she had it secure, she turned her head toward Obi-Wan. "Okay. Let it go."

Withdrawing his hand to his side, Sabé removed hers from the now suspended plastic tube. It swung a little from its cable, then stilled. She looked at him again, and Obi-Wan stepped forward to give it a hard tug. The plumbing didn't budge.

"It'll support one garden tower, at least," he said.

Sabé's dimples flashed. "Let's try the others, shall we?"

In answer, he lifted the next one into the air, and this time she stood on a small step ladder to reach the plumbing. They continued in this manner until all the towers hung in place.

When he looked at Sabé, she was watching him with darkened eyes and a smile that made a flush prickle over him, a hungry look he knew all too well. What had he done to earn it?

"Imagining these loaded with carrots and Brekka beets?" he said.

Sabé snorted and stepped down from the ladder. Obi-Wan glanced back at their handiwork, chuckling. Would he ever get used to this? Being loved, _desired_? Feeling its roots sink in deeper in the most seemingly insignificant moments. But then, making this garden together was hardly that. Small steps, perhaps, coming together to form a much larger whole.

"I can see it," Sabé said, chin brushing against his shoulder as she leaned in closer. Her hand found its way into his, fingers lacing together. "There'll be so much trailing greenery you won't even be able to see the towers beneath. It'll be beautiful."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, let himself call up the future she envisioned. When he was a Padawan, his Master had instructed him not to be mindful of the future at the expense of the present; somewhere along the way, Obi-Wan had taken that teaching too much to heart and forgotten to consider a future at all. Now he not only saw one, but heard the _drip...drip...drip..._ of nutrient-rich water pumped through irrigation tubing. Smelled fresh foliage, ripening fruit and vegetables. Tasted the salt of Sabé's skin as he turned his head to kiss her.

Every kiss now was a temptation to go further, deeper; and as he tugged her closer, felt her body sink into his, he saw _that_ future clearly, too: bodies entwined, slick with sweat, the intoxicating scent that was uniquely _Sabé_ drawing him nearer to that inevitable joining.

But _now_ was at odds with _not yet_ , and she felt it, too. They pulled away, foreheads together, hands on faces, and he could practically hear her thoughts, for his echoed them, even as his body throbbed for more. _Wait_. _Wait_. _Wait_.

He turned toward the towers and, as he’d done when he’d sent the blessing into the speeder and the lost souls connected to it, he kept her hand in his while he lifted his other. The Force flowed through both of them, into the structures along the perimeter of the cellar, a blessing of sorts for health and abundance, a wish for plenty, when the time for planting came.

First, they needed a place to actually transplant their little crops when they were ready. Reassuring himself that the towers were firmly secured, Obi-Wan went to the workbench for the power drill, which he handed over to Sabé. When she'd used it earlier, it had come as absolutely no surprise that she claimed she'd always loved using power tools

"I'll just make myself a drink and put my feet up, then," he teased, leaning back against the desk.

"All that heavy lifting must've worn you out."

"Mmm, yes. I may even take a nap."

Sabé squeezed the drill's trigger, and Obi-Wan jolted slightly at the blast of noise, like the growl of a krayt dragon, in the quiet cellar. "Or you could find a pencil and measuring tape."

"Or that," he said with a grin and moved to find the requested items from amidst the clutter of sketches and supply lists.

She put on a pair of goggles, and for a little while they worked in silence, except for the pencil tip scratching the towers to mark where they would insert the net pots for the plants, the screech of the drill boring through, the clacks of the cut-out plastic pieces falling to the packed earth floor beneath the hollow tower. Fourteen holes spaced six inches apart in each seven-foot tower, exactly as planned.

“It still boggles my mind,” said Sabé as she wiped her brow with a sleeve in between drilling, “that this planet can be so punishing and isolating, and yet we can somehow find the equipment we need for a garden project.”

“People are resourceful.”

“But once they leave, they don’t come back. Do they?”

“I can think of at least one notable exception. Two, in fact. Although your return was on accident. And technically you never disembarked the starship the first time we were here--”

“Why _did_ you come back?” She stood hipshot, holding the drill at her side like a blaster, waiting.

On tiptoe, Obi-Wan finished the last mark on the tower he was working on and turned to her. “Because Anakin never would.”

He reached out for Luke, felt him like a small but bright beacon in the distance.

“He came back once,” Sabé pointed out. Drilled another hole. “With Padmé. She wouldn’t tell us what happened.”

Kneeling beside her, Obi-Wan measured and marked the bottom of the next tower. Took a breath. “He came to look for his mother. He...worried for her.”

If only he’d taken Anakin’s dreams more seriously. If he’d come here with him, perhaps they would've been able to save her. Would that have altered his trajectory?

Sabé tugged her goggles up to perch on top of her head, the outline of a mask reddening her forehead and beneath her eyes where the rubber pinched her skin. "I'll admit, it seemed wrong that she had to stay behind. In slavery."

"Qui-Gon tried to free her, too. And she was freed, eventually…" How much could he say without endangering Luke? "A moisture farmer bought her from Watto and released her."

"But she didn't go to Coruscant? To be with her son?"

"She couldn't have been with Anakin," Obi-Wan replied, but he wondered. _What if?_ If only Anakin could've known she was safe… Then again, Coruscant, Tatooine… Nowhere was safe. Padmé hadn't been. Shmi may have been one more weapon in Palpatine's arsenal to use against Anakin. Or she might have been in danger from Anakin himself.

He collected the duraplast discs from beneath the first tower. What to do with them? It seemed a waste to simply throw them away.

"She married the farmer," he said, as if that should explain why Shmi couldn’t have joined Anakin on Coruscant. But that excuse felt incomplete, so he added another. "He had a young son."

He gathered the remaining discs and looked at them. Maybe he could drill holes through them and make a necklace for Luke. He deposited them on the workbench for later.

“But it wasn’t _her_ son,” said Sabé.

Obi-Wan turned to reply and started at the shimmering image of Qui-Gon standing next to Sabé. They wore twin expressions of incredulity.

“Well, where have _you_ been?” Obi-Wan asked.

"He's standing right next to me, isn't he?" said Sabé. "Hovering. Whatever he does."

Obi-Wan nodded.

"Please give her my--" Qui-Gon began, but Sabé aimed her drill at the ghost’s shoulder and pulled the trigger. The familiar, deep chuckle rumbled, though only Obi-Wan could hear it. "I like her."

As Sabé returned the drill to the workbench, Qui-Gon lowered his ethereal form to the steps and sat with elbows on knees. Obi-Wan gave him a look, but his Master only shrugged.

"What happened to Anakin's mother?" asked Sabé, settling into the chair. "Did he ever see her again?"

Anakin had shared as much about that return to Tatooine with Obi-Wan as Padmé had her Handmaidens. "He told me she was killed by Tuskens," he replied. Qui-Gon glanced away, face grim as though he'd heard something he didn't agree with. "He returned in time to bury her."

"That's…" Sabé's voice broke. Her chest hitched beneath her tunic, and she slumped in the chair. "That's what I'm afraid of. That something will happen to my parents, but I--"

Obi-Wan went to her and squeezed her shoulder. It seemed an inadequate gesture of comfort, but Qui-Gon still lingered. He bent and kissed the top of her head. "Hopefully we'll have news from Bail Organa about your parents when we're in Mos Espa."

They were going tomorrow; Sim Starfall had called their comlink that morning to say Wulfric, who'd recently gotten his speeder license, was taking theirs to Mari's parents' garage for a tune-up, and was happy to drive them if they wanted to pick up the rest of their gardening equipment.

Blinking back tears, Sabé nodded miserably. “Yes.” She braced herself with a deep breath and took Obi-Wan’s hand from her shoulder to hold it in hers. “At least Anakin had Padmé there with him. And his mother’s family. He didn’t have to go through it alone.”

“No,” said Obi-Wan, kneeling next to her. He took her other hand. “He didn’t.”

Stars knew what cold comfort his own condolences had been. His platitudes about releasing grief no doubt had felt to Anakin like accusations that he oughtn't to have clung to his attachment to his mother in the first place. No wonder Anakin hadn't come to him.

“Were they--?” Sabé’s brow furrowed. “I often wondered about him and Padmé. They...flirted.” She chuckled. “A lot. I always assumed there was no way, that because he was a Jedi, and so much younger...and yet…”

Obi-Wan felt the dawning comprehension as it swept through her, felt Qui-Gon’s mind nudge his. _She deserves to know the truth._

_I haven't lied to her. Sabé is no fool, if I tell her outright about Anakin and Padmé, she'll figure out the rest._

_And would that be so disastrous? It wouldn't place the children in any danger, would it?_

_Of course not. But Sabé--_

"Padmé was different after that," Sabé said, sitting up in the tattered chair as if it were a throne. "We thought it was the assassination attempt, or what happened on Geonosis. And of course the war weighed heavily on her...But now I wonder...was it more personal than that?" Her eyes drilled into Obi-Wan. "Were she and Anakin _together_?"

She'd asked him directly. He couldn't lie.

"They married in secret."

Sabé sucked in her breath through her teeth. "How did you know?"

"I didn't. Not until…" Until he'd held Luke, and felt it all. The love and the hope and the fear that Padmé had carried with the twins. The secrets Anakin had kept from him. _His brother._ "Not until the end."

_Omission, Obi-Wan, is still falsehood._

He didn't want to omit it. But admitting the truth was too painful.

He saw it etched plainly on Sabé’s face when she put it together.

“No,” she whispered.

His hands slipped from hers as she stood and paced toward Qui-Gon, then turned back to Obi-Wan. “Padmé’s baby...the father…” She covered her face, raked her fingers through her hair. “That _monster_ …”

He stood, wanting to go to her, but the horror came off her in waves, crashing into him. He could push through it, to be sure, but she didn’t want comfort now. She only wanted affirmation.

With a curt nod from him, she had it.

Stumbling through Qui-Gon’s form, she dashed upstairs. The side door opened and shut, then all was quiet again.

Obi-Wan’s heart thudded sickly in his chest as he stared at the trap door, watched the dust swirling through the shaft of light in the wake of her exit.

Turning away from Qui-Gon--he couldn’t handle that sympathetic gaze, not now--he rubbed a hand over his eyes. Imagined Sabé saddling up Nagpal and leaving without a word. It was no more than he deserved. The man--the monster--who’d tortured her and her friends had married her Queen, and gotten her with child, and to what end? As far as Sabé knew, both mother and child were dead.

 _I should have told her in the beginning_.

“You can still tell her something good.”

Obi-Wan raised his head. "You think it would be _good_ to tell her that what she's believed for two years about the child was also a lie? That I withheld it from her?"

"Are you more concerned about what she'll think of you, or about offering her hope?"

"You're keeping something from me,” he shot back, thinking of Qui-Gon’s turning away when he’d mentioned Shmi’s death.”Like Master, like Apprentice, I suppose."

The ensuing silence stretched for so long that Obi-Wan wondered if Qui-Gon had disappeared. He turned to see him hovering at the foot of the steps, broad back to him, arms folded together in the sleeves of his cloak, staring at the tick marks still visible between the newly erected towers.

"You don't need more evidence of Anakin's fall to darkness."

"Of my failure, you mean."

"Yours. Mine. The entire Jedi Order's. We failed him, and we failed you." He unfolded his arm, reached out, long fingers tracing the gashes in the wall, then the edge of one of the holes in the tower. "But you will not fail Luke."

Obi-Wan came to stand next to his Master. “All these marks,” he said. “I wasn’t even certain why I felt compelled to make them. Over time, it occurred to me that this--being here, no one, on this dustball of a planet--this couldn’t be permanent. Surely my prison sentence would end someday.”

He raised his hand and traced the most recent gouges.

“I love her,” Obi-Wan said simply, lowering his hand to his side. “And I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Changing.”

“You already have. We all do, every day.”

And yet he’d _wanted_ to change--had told Sabé as much, and it pleased her, though inside he'd quaked. Surely his years of isolation had only been the hibernation before a metamorphosis. Indeed, when he'd awakened from the week-long meditation trance, in the familiar confines of his cellar, he'd had a strange sensation of being someplace new, a learner again. Sabé had even woven him a braid. Not a Master, but his Queen, with a new mission for him. Just as he'd dreamed during that long sleep. _A Queen and her Handmaidens_ , but Dormé and Motée had gone where he could not follow, bidding him to stay by her side.  

Birth--rebirth--came with pain, and fear. And hope.

He sat on the step where Qui-Gon had previously, a student ready to be taught. His knees creaked, as if in mockery of the idea. But even Masters never stopped learning. He'd paid lip service to that. Now he meant to take it to heart.

"You never believed attachment was wrong," Obi-Wan said. "Anakin's attachments to Padmé and their children wouldn't have precluded him from being a good Jedi, would they?"

Qui-Gon turned from the wall to face him, towering for a moment before folding his height into a crouch at Obi-Wan's feet. They might have had a campfire between them, conversing before sleep during a mission.

"It's not Anakin's attachments you need concern yourself with," said Qui-Gon. "What do you believe about your own? Do you believe them incompatible with the task set before you?"

That was almost amusing. "What task is that? Allowing people to believe I'm mad so I can check in on Luke every month or so?"

Again, his Master chuckled. When it faded, Qui-Gon said, "For what it's worth, I do not believe Anakin's attachments were purely that, but rather compulsions. Born from being enslaved, from being taken from his home, his family."

"You don't believe he really loved Padmé?"

"On the contrary, he did, very deeply. But purely for herself? He had a need that went unfulfilled. And I do not mean by you. He latched onto her the moment she spoke to him in the junk shop."

"And never let go."

"Quite."

“You can understand, then, my worry that I may have latched onto Sabé in the same way.”

“One might wonder if she’s done the same.”

“Hmm.”

“What do your senses tell you?”

He felt it, even now as the storm of her emotion still raged above ground. Sabé hadn’t left. She loved him.

“And what about _you_?” Qui-Gon asked.

A huff of amusement tickled his lips. “I’m a grown man, set in my ways. Falling in love was never part of the plan. This has happened and, like it or not, it’s real.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes crinkled. “You always had a way with words.”

“So…” Obi-Wan hesitated to say it aloud, but he could see that Qui-Gon was going to make him do it. If he didn’t, he’d likely hang about all evening. “It naturally follows…”

The ghost raised his eyebrows.

“The...natural expression of love between two consenting adults--”

“Oh, for stars’ sake,” muttered Qui-Gon. “I thought you said you were a grown man. Out with it.”

Obi-Wan glared at him. He was forty, yet he felt every bit the adolescent being forced into a conversation about the facts of life. “You may be a ghost, but can’t you see that this is a delicate matter?”

“We’re talking man to man. I tried to have this chat with you when you were fourteen, if I recall correctly.”

Obi-Wan bit down on a growl of frustration. Matters of the heart had never been his strong suit. “Let me ask you a question, then. If I do this...if Sabé and I allow our relationship to become...intimate…”

“Yes?”

But he couldn’t figure out the question, if there even was one to ask. Would he no longer be a Jedi? Would it change him irrevocably? Would it weaken his link to the Force? Would Sabé break his heart, or he hers? Would they marry? Have children? Would their children break his heart?

It was all too much, and he froze with his mouth still open.

A peace settled on Obi-Wan, almost as if a strong hand had come to rest on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. When Qui-Gon spoke, the voice seemed to come from around and within him.

"You were wise beyond your years, but you were too young. I placed a burden on your shoulders you should never have had to bear. And you bore it alone, because you went against the Order to keep your promise to me.”

As Obi-Wan looked into his Master’s eyes, the room seemed to broaden around them. He thought he heard rain on the roof, the twittering of birds, but it was none of that. It was simply the connectedness of all living things, which his teacher had tried to show him so long ago.

“But you're no longer alone. This future, with all its possibilities for joy and grief you find so overwhelming at present, will be shared with Sabé." The ghost reached out to touch the garden tower that hung over the steps. "Look at what you've already built together."

As Qui-Gon's shimmering form dissolved, Obi-Wan looked, and saw. More importantly, he _didn't_ see the scratches in the earthen wall.

Gone were the days of ticking off a prison sentence. Now, they'd mark time in growing seasons.

~*~

The sunlight glared through the side door when Obi-Wan pushed it open, but it wasn't sensitive eyes accustomed to the dim of the cellar that made him draw up short and clutch the frame as he caught his breath. Sabé huddled in the dirt, knees drawn beneath her, arms curled over her head as if to protect herself from a storm. Her pale fingers wove through the dark shock of her hair, clutching it, tugging from her scalp. She'd tear it from her head if it would stop the pain, but of course it wouldn't.

He could, though. If not stop it, make it less.

Reaching back into the hall, he felt for the cloak hanging on the peg near the door and pulled it down. He didn't drape it over his own shoulders, but folded it over his arm and carried it out to where she lay.

She was trembling. He felt the Force judder with her turmoil before he drew near enough to see it. When he reached her, he stood over her for a moment, thinking, then he pushed thought aside. _Feel. Follow your instincts._ He lowered himself to the ground beside her, spreading the cloak over them both as if they lay in bed.

Sabé didn’t adjust her position when she felt the cloak, so he adjusted his. Shifting to his side, he drew his knees up behind her, wrapped an arm over her shaking back. Once again, _thought_ tired to interfere with _feeling_ \--it would be easy to send peace into her, through the Force--but it wouldn’t make it easier for her to make sense of what she’d just learned.

So he stayed this way, wrapped around her, waiting, while his own heart clenched and wept for her. He had no choice but to wait, and so he did.

The suns still hung high in the blank sky as they slowly made their way westward. He remembered when he’d learned that planets moved, not suns, yet it was still hard to imagine Tatooine trekking along any course, gravitational or otherwise. Perhaps he’d thought himself as immovable, once.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He slid his hand up Sabé’s spine and into her hair, over the interlaced fingers, and brought his forehead closer to hers. She still hadn’t turned to him.

“I should've told you sooner. I’m sorry, Sabé.”

Shame roiled through him. How many times had he justified withholding the truth--or any action, for that matter--by telling himself it was _in someone’s best interest_? What made him the arbiter of truth? Whom, exactly, had he been protecting?

“I need to tell you the rest. Can you look at me?”

Sabé made a noise, something like a moan, and shook her head.

“It’s good. I promise.” He brought his fingers down and gently slid them between her temple and the heel of her hand, hoping she’d loosen the grip on her hair.

Now shame cascaded from _her_. She sobbed something he didn’t catch. He worked his hand slowly, slowly into hers, until finally she clasped it, entwining her fingers through his even as she turned her face away from him. She spoke again, and this time he understood.

“ _This isn’t me_.”

“I know,” he said. “Come back.”

Another moan. “I can’t.”

“You can. You have.” He switched the hand that held hers and reached for the other one in her hair. “You will.”

Again the slow working of fingers. This fist was tighter, but he was a patient man. The suns blazed down on them, the air still and suffocating. He thought about bringing her water, but he couldn’t leave her now.

“Please. Look at me. Listen.” _I need to make this right_.

He needed her to forgive him, too, but _his_ needs weren't important at the moment.

Sabé's fingers loosened the slightest bit, just enough that the knot in his chest relaxed and he could breathe again. They released her hair, and he brushed it with his fingers, the matted locks damp with sweat. Back heaving, she turned her head so that he could just see her profile through the curl of her arm. Her cheek was smudged with dust and tears, a wild look in the red-rimmed eye. A few strands had worked free of her braid and stuck to her forehead. Obi-Wan didn't try to brush them out of the way.

"I'm listening," she said, the words muffled against her shoulder.

His tongue darted out to moisten parched lips. Forming the words, if he could even think of the right ones, seemed difficult. _Don't think,_ his heart said.

The words tumbled out, unbidden. "Padmé's babies didn't die with her."

For a long time, Sabé's expression remained as blank as the afternoon sky. Had she heard him? Then, the one eyebrow he could see pulled inward. Beneath his hand, hers moved, uncovering more of her face as she turned her head more fully toward him. Her pale lips moved, formed a single mute word, but he read it.

"She gave birth to twins," he said, a smile forming even as tears slid down his own cheeks. "A boy and a girl. They're alive and safe. And loved," he added, for wasn't that the most important thing of all?

"Twins," Sabé choked out.

Obi-Wan nodded. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before."

She sniffled. "It isn't as if I told you my whole story upfront. And the reasons to keep Anakin’s--” She winced. “--Vader’s children secret far outweigh the maudlin story of my incarceration."

"Nevertheless..."

“They lived,” she breathed. “They’re happy. Padmé would--” Her voice caught, but a real smile stretched her cheeks.

He moved as Sabé pushed herself up on her knees, then shifted to sit. She wiped her tears, grimaced and pulled her hands away from her face, looking at her dirt-caked palms.

"Ugh. Sand gets everywhere."

Obi-Wan _hmm_ ed his agreement as he sat up with her. "It's times like these I most miss water showers." He checked that the corner of the cloak was dust-free and brought it up to dab the grime from her skin. He stilled as an idea formed.

"What is it?"

He touched her shoulder. "Wait here," he said and scrambled to his feet.

A few minutes later, when he stood in the side doorway with a towel slung over his shoulder, shampoo in his hand, and a basin balanced between his forearms, he could only jerk his head for her to join him in the shade. Sabé picked up his cloak, eyes widening as she approached.

“Have a seat,” he said, indicating the steps.

Leaving the door open, Obi-Wan lowered the basin to the entryway as Sabé positioned herself two steps down, using his cloak as a cushion. He set the shampoo bottle aside, rolled up the towel, and tucked it along the edge of the basin to bolster her neck. Then he sat, too, straddling the basin to wrap his legs around the front. This way, she could lean in comfort against his shins.

When she tilted her head back, he cradled it in his palms, then lowered it into the water. Her sigh of pleasure was sensual, her groan guttural as her eyes fluttered closed.

Slowly, he worked his fingers through her hair. The locks fanned out like sea coral waving in a current. He cupped his hand and poured water over her forehead, smoothed away the sand and grime from her cheeks. Then he unbound her plait, unwinding the three strands until they floated free.

Squeezing a dollop of shampoo from the bottle, he rubbed it between his hands and placed them on her temples. He studied her face as he began to massage the shampoo into her hair at the roots, watched the lines fade from her forehead, her lips part as she relaxed completely. The angle exposed her neck, the rolling muscles of her throat each time she swallowed. He longed to lean over her and press his mouth to it, but he refrained. There would be time for that later; for now, he relished the feeling of being trusted enough, in spite of his many failures, for her to open herself in this way.

She sighed, a long exhale with a soft hum, and sank deeper into him.

"This is heaven," she said. "You should let me do it for you."

Her lashes parted, and he found himself peering into the dark mirrors of her eyes. "You gave me a haircut. It's my turn to look after you."

"You nursed me when I was sick."

"And you made me start eating properly."

"Are you keeping score?"

"Counting my blessings." There were so many now. More than he could have imagined.

Her smile was one of them. She reached up to scrub her fingers through his beard, and he leaned into her touch, turning his face to kiss her palm.

He left her balanced on her elbows with her wet hair dangling over the basin for just a moment to get a pitcher of fresh water. When he returned, he knelt at her side and poured it slowly over her hair as he ran his fingers through the remainder of soap and sand. Then he wrung out her hair and brought up the towel, helping her to sit upright as he wrapped it around her head. A far cry from a Queen's headdress, though she held herself with as much regalness. Her cheeks were flushed, from contentment, he suspected, and not the heat, for once.

“You’re a new woman,” he said, and she graced him with another smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered, eyes shimmering. She cleared her throat, wiped her nose with a sleeve. "Though I think there's quite a bit of sand still in other places."

Chuckling, he touched her back between her shoulderblades and steered her inside. "You have a shower, and I'll see what I can cobble together for dinner."

"I'd argue that I should do that while you shower," Sabé said, even as she went to the 'fresher, "but since you did say you're not keeping score…"

By the time she’d finished, coming out with her hair braided and wearing the skirt that afforded an enticing glimpse of her ankles and a bit of her calves, Obi-Wan had nearly finished chopping the vegetables for sauteing, and he relinquished the knife to Sabé as he went to take his own shower.

Even the scents in the ‘fresher were different since she’d arrived, as though her very presence had brought with it flowers and spices and all manner of aromas he hadn’t known would spark such longing, such _life_ , in him. He took extra care in dressing and brushing his hair back, tying it into the knot she seemed to like so well. His neck was looking scruffy again, so he made use of the straight razor she'd given him--its maker, thank the stars, was a better craftsman than novelist. When he finished, he inspected his reflection. No longer the skinny, monkish hermit, he thought with a wry smile at himself.

When at last they sat together at the small table, he noticed Sabé had opened the bottle of wine and poured them each a cup.

She raised hers. “To the progression of our tower garden.”

They touched cups and drank, keeping their eyes on each other as was custom on Coruscant. He tasted cloves and oak and dried pallies, but celebrating the garden wasn’t on his mind. It seemed that today, with his confession that the twins lived, another veil had lifted. It was as though he saw her more clearly now. Even her eyes seemed more focused on him, as if he’d somehow been hiding behind a mask all this time.

She hadn’t asked their names, where they lived, who their families were. Of course she’d understand the need for secrecy.

But she had to know that he trusted her with those secrets.

As they ate in contented silence, Obi-Wan began to spin out a plan. He was due to look in on Luke soon--more than a month had passed since his last visit. While they were in Mos Espa, he'd send Owen and Beru a message with his commlink information and ask permission to bring Sabé with him. If just hearing that Padmé's children had survived brought her such peace and relief, then surely seeing one of them would bring more.

And Beru was kind-hearted. Both of them were, though Owen was gruff and wary. It would do Sabé good to have more female friends. For her horizons to broaden beyond the walls of this hovel. After all, she’d brought the Starfalls to him. He could bring the Larses to her.

"You're thinking hard over there." Her voice drew him out of his musing. "Plotting?"

"Planning."

"Secret plans?"

"More like surprises."

Her eyes glimmered at him over the rim of her cup as she sipped. "How romantic."

He laughed. "I've never been called that before."

"If the shoe fits..."

Raising his cup to her in salute, he found himself quite unable to stop grinning. _Romantic. Him._ "Maybe it's because I've been reading _Kiss of the Krayt_ with a beautiful woman next to me in bed _._ "

Raising one eyebrow flirtatiously, Sabé said, "I bet you could write a better romance novel."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I probably need a little more personal experience before I venture down that career path." Sabé held his gaze, and he held his breath. "But there are...other things I could write." The Jedi archives, after all, must have begun with one book.

Sabé’s look shifted to one of pride, but she didn’t press him.

After they did the washing up, he changed into his sleeping clothes while Sabé emerged from the ‘fresher in a knee-length nightshirt, and they climbed into bed with the intent of finishing a chapter in their book. But the remainder of this one was, apparently, plot-driven, or as close an approximation to it as the author was likely to achieve. Without explicit eroticism to spur them to embarrassment, laughter, or (in one instance) unexpected arousal on his part, they found themselves losing interest and resorted to mocking the writing to stay awake. Eventually, however, yawns outnumbered snarky remarks, so they put the book aside for another night, Obi-Wan switched off the bed light, and they settled in under the covers.

They lay on their backs, shoulders touching but nothing else. He wanted his lips on hers, but he didn't want to presume that every night ended with kissing, especially after her upset and the subsequent revelation that had turned everything she thought she knew on its head. So he contented himself with the heat of her body beside his in the narrow bed. The suns had set, but the moons hadn't yet risen, so Obi-Wan couldn't make out the edge of the alcove as he stared up at the ceiling. He didn't know if Sabé was looking at it, too, or if her eyes were closed, though he could feel from the rise and fall of the covers as she breathed that she wasn't anywhere near sleep yet. She wanted to say something, but she was unsure how to begin.  

Although he rolled onto his side to face her, he still could see nothing in the darkness. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you--"

"Obi-Wan. Stop apologizing." The rustle of fabric as she turned her head on the pillow. "Was there ever going to be a good time to tell me Padmé's husband betrayed her and helped turn the Republic into a dictatorship?"

"When you put it like that…" He trailed off, sensing a quaver in the Force, though not as tumultuous as what he'd felt earlier in the yard.

"Besides," she said, voice a little muffled, as if she were burrowing her face into the pillow, "if you'd told me sooner, I would've reacted even worse than I did today."

No longer able to resist the impulse to touch her, he brought his hand up until he found her chin, let his fingers trail over her jawline to tilt her face upward so that if they could have seen her, he'd be looking into her eyes.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," he told her. "Do you think I haven't crumbled in the dust under the weight of it?"

For a heartbeat she was quiet, then she turned fully toward him, hands tucked beneath her chin, knees bumping his, and whispered, "How have you borne it?"

"Not well, if you remember how you found me." His thumb stroked the curve of her jaw, her earlobe. "Better, now that you have." As Qui-Gon had said, there was relief in having two to carry the load, though he hated that she had to. "You're living proof that he hasn't won."

“So are the children,” Sabé whispered, and something in the feeling behind her words sent a flutter into his heart. “As long as they’re safe, there’s hope. He hasn’t won. He _can’t_ win.”

It was more than a feeling, he realized. There was truth in her words, beyond them, even, whether she’d ever spoken them aloud or not. How had he not understood this until now?

In the darkness he found her lips and kissed her, softly, reverently. When he pulled away he kept her hand in his and somehow, even as his body longed for more of hers, he fell asleep.

And dreamed of strangers, beautiful and powerful and somehow familiar. A man and woman stood with their backs to him on the deck of a starship overlooking a peaceful galaxy, his raven hair as inky as the space visible through the transparisteel, her simple clothing the color of sand, both tired and satisfied and older than their years. Obi-Wan led her as a child down a path, her small hands in his, but she wasn’t the first. Before her there was Luke, whose hand he never seemed to be able to grasp, and Leia, who remained invisible to him but was there, always there. Before them were the Younglings. After them, another child, a boy, with brown hair and eyes the color of oceans, and beyond his shoulder Sabé. Obi-Wan took his hands and saw the sand-colored girl in the flash of dimples.

How had he come to this place again, of leading children through their first steps into the Force? Hadn’t he sufficiently proved he was incapable? A towheaded boy in a sandstorm had become his, and all was lost.

 _Come back_ , said a voice.

"I can't." He shook his head, tried to pull his hand away, but her grip was too strong. She kept hold, and the bindings around his ankles came free, the stones sinking down to the ocean floor without him. His head broke through the surface, and there was light everywhere he looked. Starlight, the lights of starships, city lights and fires burning in the wilderness. _Life_ everywhere.

Sabé turned his hand over, uncurled his fingers. In his palm, he held seeds. "We could make a life here," she said. _Here_ was the cellar, the towers trailing greenery and laden with jogan fruit.  Between, life forms glowed in the packed earth walls.

"Yes," he replied, and planted the seeds in her belly.

Bounty required work, and sacrifice, and sweat, he now knew as he plowed into her body. And she took him in, verdant and hot, ripe with potential. He’d lost all sense of time and place--perhaps they rutted in the cellar, or under the stars; it might have happened before, or tonight, or never. All he knew was that he wanted her and everything that might grow because of the two of them.

Obi-Wan awoke reluctantly, with a groan, still longing and clinging to his dream. It almost felt as though Sabé’s body still enveloped his, but rougher now, the grip too strong. But it felt good. If he kept his eyes closed, maybe he could dive back into the dream, find her again, her naked body slick against his as he pounded into her. He found the rhythm they’d shared, but the sound was all wrong. Fabric, not flesh. The grunts and gasps were all his own, Sabé silent.

His eyes snapped open. The pale synstone ceiling curved above him, light of the three risen moons beaming through the windows across from the bed, illuminating everything. He saw he'd kicked off the blankets in the heat of the dream. His own fingers wrapped around his arousal.

Beside him, Sabé had awakened, and she saw it, too.

He withdrew his hand and rolled away from her watchful eyes. But Sabé shifted closer, pressed herself to his back, tucked her knees behind his as she reached around and took his hand. Her lips and tongue blazed against his neck as she placed his hand over his erection and pressed it until he grasped himself again through his sleep pants.

She kept her hand over his as he moved his fingers over the length, breath hot on his neck, using her own fingers to feel what he was doing. When he drew his thumb and forefinger over the head, she groaned and bit into his shoulder. Every now and then her fingers trailed his, and he thought he might climax from just that small touch.

When she scooted away, he missed her warmth, her tongue and teeth; but she tugged on his shoulder to get him to roll onto his back. Now that he could see her ravenous expression, the way her dark gaze darted from his face down to his hand, he had to slow down, even without her touch.

But then, keeping her eyes on him, she rolled onto her back, hiked up her nightshirt to her waist, and slid her fingers into her underwear.

Obi-Wan had to remove his own for a few seconds as he reeled from what he was seeing: her hand moving in slow, almost circular movements, dark hair barely visible through the thin underwear, her eyes rich and half-lidded with her own arousal. When he thought he could manage to touch himself again without exploding, he did so, and was rewarded with a guttural moan as she watched.

With her other hand, she pulled her underwear down just a bit lower, as though the cotton was too restrictive, and now he could see her fingers, if not what lay beneath. Without thinking, he hastily undid the drawstring of his pants, thrust his hand inside, and grasped his flesh, exhaling.

 _Patience_ , he told himself, and slowed his movements. If she found pleasure in watching his, then he would draw it out it for as long as he could. But if the increasing speed of her own movements was any indication, it wouldn't be much longer before she brought herself to release. He remembered how she'd looked beneath him. For those few moments, there had been no trace of heartache. Everything had been beautiful and good. He pumped his hand harder and watched the back and forth of her fingers, applying himself to the study of what made her blink or bite her lip or buck her hips against her own hand.

In the moonlight, her skin shone with perspiration. He couldn't stop himself reaching out to touch her, tracing downward from the hem of her shirt until he felt the brush of coarse curls, the damp heat of her groin. As he splayed his fingers to feel as much as he could without interfering with her ministrations, a cry drew his eyes back to her face. _There_. As she rode her climax, his own built under his hand. He pumped harder and nearly matched her, until they both panted and moaned together, spent.

Yet that wasn’t enough. Hoisting himself up onto an elbow, he captured her mouth, kissed her more deeply than he ever had. His fingers slid downward, and he nearly whimpered to feel the slickness and the aftershocks of her body coming down. Her fingers wrapped around him, wet and still hard, and they both shuddered at the touch, hips straining toward each other as their tongues wrapped together until he thought he might growl.

How long they went on like that, he couldn't have said. Their passion abated in its own time, like the natural calming of a thunderstorm into a rain shower. Lips moved softly until their kisses stopped and, limbs intertwined, both of them satisfied and safe, they slept.


	19. Chapter 19

For a former Jedi General who was also a famed starfighter pilot, Obi-Wan looked much less comfortable in the passenger seat of the Starfalls' landspeeder than Sabé would have expected--even with a newly licensed fourteen-year-old flying it. He s crushed himself against the back of his seat as though he feared he'd be flung out of the vehicle, clutching the center console with a white-knuckled hand. In the back Sabé laughed, though she could scarcely hear herself over the wind, and leaned forward to put her head between the two seats.

"Faster!" she said loudly to Wulfric, who gave her a sidelong glance and a lopsided grin. "Ben doesn't find this ride thrilling enough."

"Ben can speak for himself, thank you very much." Obi-Wan removed a hand from the console to swat at her; she dodged his fingers, laughing again. "No need for thrills," he added to Wulfric, who'd accelerated around a tight curve in the draw. "This is just a trip into town, not a pod race. Keep your focus ahead. These turns can come up faster than you think."

"You sound just like my dad," Wulfric muttered, but he slowed down--a little.  

Obi-Wan did sound like a father. He'd make a good one, Sabé thought, watching the play of lines across his profile. Not that she could see much, with the goggles covering much of his face. She was grateful for the pair she wore, and for the scarf she could tug up over her face when he glanced at her again, as though her flush might reveal her thought.

"Have you ever been to a pod race?" Wulfric asked after a moment. "We go to the Boonta Eve Classic every year. You should come with us. Once this kid won," he threw back to Sabé. "He was, like, nine. I didn't see, it was before I was born. But everyone still talks about it."

Her heart lurched, and not because of Wulfric’s steering. On the surface, Obi-Wan appeared calmer about this than about their daring young pilot, but his reply sounded _too_ even.

"Yes. I believe I heard something about that."

"All the way on Coruscant?" Wulfric snapped his head to look straight at him. "Wizard!"

"Eyes front, Wulfric."

"Kriff!" The boy swerved around an outcropping. "Language, I know, sorry."

But Obi-Wan didn't scold him for swearing. He didn't seem to have noticed at all, preoccupied once more by their lives being imperilled. Or was he thinking of that champion child pilot who'd won the Boonta Eve Classic, then the Battle of Naboo, and changed all their lives--for better _and_ for worse?

Sabé tried not to think about _worse_ as they sped on in silence. Instead, she remembered how Padmé had returned to the stranded ship after the race and fumed to the Handmaidens about how Master Jinn schemed to gamble on a little boy despite her insistence that the Queen would not approve. _"'The Queen does not need to know,’"_ Padmé quoted as they switched clothes. _"The Jedi knowingly deceived me. Or tried to.”_

_"Seems fair, Your Highness,"_ Sabé had replied, _"as you're knowingly deceiving him."_

The smile returned to her face at the memory, and she made a mental note to tell Obi-Wan later. She wished she could speak to Qui-Gon's ghost, as he could, and hear that deep rumbling chuckle.

When at last Wulfric swooped into a space next to another speeder and the growl of the engine cut off, the relative quiet made Sabé realize how her body had been vibrating since they’d left the Starfall homestead an hour ago. The boy leapt nimbly to the ground and offered his hand to Sabé, which she took after she removed her goggles, drew her scarf back, and tried to smooth her hair. Obi-Wan didn’t seem to be in a hurry as he sat unmoving, scrubbing his fingers through his beard.

The building to the right of Soren’s Garage reminded her of Obi-Wan’s hovel, only twice as large. A few decorative cacti adorned the front walkway, which appeared to have been recently swept. From what she could see of the interior of the garage, the duracrete floor, though stained by fuel and dinged up, was neat, too, with tools hung in an orderly fashion on pegboard fastened to the walls. Sabé could see where Mari had inherited her penchant for order and beauty.

“Hey, Grandma!” Wulfric called toward figures that appeared through the open door. "Told you next time I visited I'd drive myself, Grandpa."

"I see you made it here in one piece."

While the teenager and his grandparents hugged, Obi-Wan disembarked and drew back his hood. His face still bore the red marks of the goggles, which gave him a harried look--or perhaps it was the aftereffects of the breakneck speed at which they’d traveled.

“All right?” Sabé whispered.

He nodded and mustered a feeble smile. “Wonder if he’d let me drive us home?”

“Not a chance.”

“A man can dream.”

Together they turned toward Mari’s parents.

Mrs. Soren hardly looked her age, though her hair in its coppery bun had faded to a lighter shade than her daughter's. With shrewd brown eyes and a strong jaw, she was solidly built, taller than her husband. Mari had her dad’s startlingly blue eyes and easy smile, Sabé saw at once, but his hair was coarse and grey.

He gave Obi-Wan an appraising look. "So you're the infamous Ben I've heard so much about in the cantina."

"He’s an outlander," said Wulfric, “but he’s cool as a dead star.”

Mr. Soren's eyes twinkled impishly beneath his heavy eyebrows."Now there's a ringing endorsement."

"Indeed," said Obi-Wan as Mr. Soren ushered them inside. "Compliments from teenagers are few and far between."

"Got any doughnuts?" Wulfric asked, already on his way to a doorway that must have led to the kitchen.

"The real reason your mother sent you here," Mr. Soren said. "You've got the appetite of a young krayt dragon."

"Ben does a really good krayt dragon impression!" called Wulfric from the other room.

"Mari mentioned that," said her mother, beckoning for them to follow. "Don't worry--we won't ask for a demonstration."

"Thank the stars," Obi-Wan breathed, looking genuinely relieved.

"Unless you'd like a doughnut," she added, turning back just inside the kitchen and looking every inch Mari.

At her insistence, they sat at the kitchen table, chatting as she served them doughnuts and mugs of strong caf. When the Sorens learned a cellar garden brought their daughter's friends to town, they told them where they could get the best deals on the equipment they needed.

"Unfortunately that sleemo Watto has the best electrical components," Mr. Soren said, eyebrows pulling together. “But there’s a fellow who runs a tent business for drip lines, pumps, and such. He’s usually set up near the farmers’ market.”

That was perfect, for they'd decided they might as well top off their produce bins and pantry shelves and save themselves another trip to town.

“And you can get nutrients for your water supply from the herbalist,” Mrs. Soren said. “Have you seen him? Ho'Din. He moves around.”

“I know the one.” Obi-Wan's cheeks reddened. What was that all about?

He stuffed the remainder of his doughnut into his mouth, and powdered sugar puffed onto his beard and mustache. Sabé resisted the urge to wipe it away for about three seconds, when her hand rose of its own accord and swiped at the crumbs with her napkin. She felt Mrs. Soren’s keen eyes on her, but fortunately Mr. Soren was going into detail now about their own cellar garden.

Leaving Wulfric to clear the table, they showed Obi-Wan and Sabé the towers they’d constructed from dilapidated speeder parts; the effect was equal parts grimy technology and verdant life, and Sabé liked it. She remembered a few questions she’d forgotten to ask Mari, and they offered some helpful hints of their own, so that by the time she and Obi-Wan were ready to say their farewells she felt better equipped to make her purchases.

Wulfric bounded from the kitchen, the front of his tunic spattered with water as if he'd dried his hands on it. "Can I use the HoloNet, Grandpa?"

"Only if you offer Ben and Sabé the chance first."

Obi-Wan’s eyes brightened and locked onto Sabé’s. Her pulse raced at the prospect of possibly having news about her parents, a knot in her throat restricting her ability to respond. Sensing this, he squeezed her hand and turned to their hosts. “That would be most helpful. We'd planned to go to the starport.”

Mrs. Soren made a sound of disapproval. "That just won't do. So far out of your way. And so many scoundrels."

Gesturing for them to follow, her husband ambled  down the walkway and into the open garage, where he led them to an old console on a corner desk. “We mostly use this for communiques from out-of-town customers, but it comes in handy for news off-planet.”

He went off to pull the speeder into the garage for a tune up and inspection. Obi-Wan seated himself at the computer terminal, and Sabé stood just behind him, fingers picking at a pulled seam in the chair's upholstery. She turned her head to avoid seeing anything that might not be intended for her eyes, tried to distract herself with the sweet scene of Wulfric chatting happily with his grandfather while he opened the speeder’s access panel. The morning sounds of the neighborhood drifted through the open door on the hot breeze.

But then Obi-Wan's fingers went still on the keyboard, and the chair creaked as he swiveled to look up at her while his messages downloaded.

"Whatever news there is--"

" _If_ there is any."

He took her hand, stroked his thumb across her knuckles. "You don't have to bear it alone."

She tried to smile, but wasn't quite successful. She nodded to the monitor. "Let's see, then."

Obi-Wan turned back to the screen, and Sabé closed her eyes. Praying, or simply trying to stop her head from swimming. She regretted the sugary doughnuts and caf after their speeder ride under the morning suns.

At length, he said, "Well, this makes no sense. Not to me, anyway. Can you understand it?"

Drawing a deep breath, Sabé peered over his shoulder at the screen. For a moment, the bright Aurebesh characters on the dark background seemed like gibberish--until her brain kicked into gear.

"Didn't they teach you old Naboo spy cant in the Temple?" As she shouldered closer, she didn’t register that he’d risen from the chair until she’d sat in it herself. But it was the words that held her attention and cradled the swelling inside her chest.

_Knock-knock. Rum to office lurch ent snapt or cramp word. Bing wiv cull, smooth. Birds of a feather rum_.

She didn't have to translate for Obi-Wan to know it conveyed happy news. He stroked her neck, bent to kiss the top of her head, her cheek where her tears streamed and dripped onto the desk. Not gestures intended to comfort, but to express that he shared in her joy and relief.

"Tell me this message isn’t about someone drinking a lot of rum."

Laughter loosened the knot in her throat. "Let’s see.” She pointed to the words as she translated. “ _Hello! Good to inform abandoned person isn’t arrested or dead. Escape with honest man, stay quiet. Parents fine_."

Her fingertips remained on the screen as though she could link hands with her mother and father through it. She imagined them crying, as she did now, when they received word from Bail Organa that she was alive and well, and sitting over the dinner table together to compose a message she knew could only have come from them. She’d taught the language to them during her Handmaiden training, and they’d practiced with her in their communications over the HoloNet, becoming ever more creative in their use of the cant to discuss mundane things like shopping and food preparation.

Never had she believed that one day it would confirm her parents’ safety.

When at last she’d composed herself enough to stand, she let Obi-Wan draw her to her feet and into his arms. Over his shoulder, she saw Wulfric look quickly away, as if he'd been watching, to speak to his grandmother, who'd come out to help with the speeder tune-up.

"It's wonderful news," Obi-Wan murmured. "I'm so glad."

Emotion welled up again. Sabé had  been so sure her parents would be two more people she'd never have a chance to lay to rest. Although she knew in her heart it was unlikely she'd ever be able to see them again--for surely the Empire had them under surveillance in case she were foolish enough to return home--it was enough, would have to be enough, to know simply that they were alive. That they knew she was, too.

She pressed her lips quickly to his, tasting a bit of residual powdered sugar, then slipped from his embrace to sit at the computer again. For a moment she stared into space, searching her memory for the correct spy cant for _I've fallen in love and we're planting a garden together._

~*~

The work on the Starfalls' speeder would take a while, so Wulfric remained behind at his grandparents' while Sabé and Obi-Wan continued on foot to the market. They agreed he'd meet them near the junk shop in an hour's time, though they each had comlinks in case plans changed.

Sabé stole a glance at Obi-Wan’s profile as they trudged together through the dusty market toward the pump and drip line seller’s tent. At the garage, he’d read Bail’s message and then sent another two, his face flaring red as he sat for long minutes composing the second one. Now, however, his strides seemed to contain greater purpose than they had the last time they’d been in town, and she wondered what that message had, in fact, contained. There was still so much he hadn’t told her. But a weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders, which had to be a good sign.

“Let me do the talking,” she said when they found the vendor at last. He was a Wookiee, and no doubt sweltering in the desert climate, but he turned out to be pliable under the right amount of flirtation. Soon their packs sagged under the weight of lengths of irrigation drips, a drain tube, grow lights, troughs, and a pump. Sabé suppressed her satisfied smile until they’d turned their backs.

"I rather enjoy haggling," she said.

" _Hmm_ , you negotiated a good price. Although it seemed more like flirting to me than haggling. Granted, Wookiees are notoriously coquettish..."

"Jealous?"

"Not at all. I know your type is...less hairy."

He looked almost smug, and truth be told, he wore it well. It was lovely to see him hold his head up, instead of bowing beneath the weight of the galaxy. Her eyes danced over the bump beneath his hood where the top-knot was, then down over his beard. "A bit."

"It's just--I believe I've been regarded as rather charming, too."

"By whom? When?"

Obi-Wan stopped. "Well, you, for one."

" _Now_ ," Sabé conceded. "But when I knew you before you were…" His eyebrows went up expectantly, and he folded his arms. "Uptight."

His arms unfolded again. "When you knew me before I was in a rather stressful situation."

"Have you ever _not_ been in a stressful situation?"

He looked as though he were trying to think of a time, or maybe he was listening, then he shook his head.

"Yet at some point during these stressful situations you became a flirt?"

"Yes. Exactly. People grow and change. Mellow with age."

Sabé snorted and spied a booth across the market. Hitching the sack up on her shoulder, she said, "Let's see it, then. There's the herbalist."

She moved past him, sack bumping against her hip, only glancing back when he didn’t follow. He stood wide-eyed and slack-jawed, darting a glare off to the side--was Qui-Gon there?--before stomping after her with a resolute look on his face.

As promised, she stood off to the side when Obi-Wan approached the Ho'Din. She’d noticed that seller before, and his lean stillness made her shiver today as it had then. It wasn’t that he was frightening, but rather that he felt so _different_ from anyone she’d ever encountered.

“Master Gardener,” said Obi-Wan with a bow. When he rose, he shot Sabé a look as though to say, _Watch and learn_. A thrill coursed through her at the raising of his eyebrow.

“Greetings, my friend,” the Ho’Din replied, his red-violet hair seeming to stand on end at the term of respect Obi-Wan had bestowed. “How may I enrich you today?”

Obi-Wan lowered his pack to the ground and when he rose again his gaze seemed focused only on the vendor, his voice pitched only for him, as though they sat together in a quiet barroom and not on the side of a filthy street. “They say the greatest reverence to the Maker is the creation of a garden.”

“Indeed,” the vendor replied, leaning forward with his strange, long fingers splayed over his table of wares. “We know this--”

“--to be true,” Obi-Wan finished, and Sabé suddenly wondered if he was hypnotizing the vendor somehow. “Do you have what I need?”

“You need nutrients for water.”

“I do.”

Sabé felt as though she were intruding on an intimate moment between the men. When she realized her mouth had dropped open, she shut it quickly. Obi-Wan glanced at her again, and she mouthed, _Wow_. Yes, he _had_ become adept at flirting in the years intervening their first encounters on Tatooine.

Continuing this strange dance, they agreed upon a price, and Sabé thought she saw the quirk of a smile in the rise of Obi-Wan’s cheeks, the glimmer of his eyes. But he steadfastly avoided hers as he stowed the packets of nutrients away.

When he came to her, his cheeks flamed red. “There is...something else I thought I might... _we_ might wish to acquire.”

Sabé couldn't respond right away, not because she didn't follow his meaning, but because her belly had tightened and her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. Memories from last night rushed at her, of waking to his moans, wondering if he were troubled by a nightmare, only to look at him in the moonlight to see him touching himself. Dreaming, yes, but not unpleasantly, and her own arousal stirred at the path her imagination had taken. The hope that it had been graphic visions of _her_ that made him even in sleep seek satisfaction.

"We don't seem to be taking it very slowly, do we?" she said, skin prickling again now, and not from the heat.

“On the contrary,” he said. “Of late, it has felt painfully slow. To me.”

“And to me,” she replied, breathless. Were they finally talking about this? And in the middle of the street, no less? Her next words rushed forth before she could stem their flow. “I have an implant--we all had them, just in case--” She didn't want to say the word _Handmaidens_ with the Ho’Din so near. “But it's due to expire soon unless I see a medic.”

_No_ _medic_ , she remembered telling him that day in the alley. She probably shouldn't risk it now, either, if she truly meant to disappear with this “honest man.”

Obi-Wan turned back to the vendor, who'd watched this exchange with a smile, his dark eyes crinkling. “If you have--we need--do you sell contraceptives?”

Sabé would've laughed outright at the drastic change in Obi-Wan’s poise--forget flirtation, he'd lost all semblance of being as cool as a dead star--if her heart hadn't started hammering so hard against her breast that she almost imagined she could see it. Her mouth grew dry.

But between her legs the throb of longing began again.

As though he'd sensed it, the Ho’Din turned toward her. “Certain, you are?” Sabé could only stare in confusion as he continued, including Obi-Wan now. “The greatest reverence to the Maker is the creation of a garden.”

Obi-Wan stilled. Closed his eyes. Opened them to Sabé alone.

“Everything in its season.”

His eyes held hers, and she couldn't look away, feeling hypnotized as the herbalist had looked moments ago. Did Obi-Wan want to have children? Had he at least given consideration to the possibility? _I want to love you in every sense_ , he'd said. Her head swirled with potential, and such a future as she’d never dared to consider, particularly since her imprisonment. It was almost too much. And he knew it, for he'd held back, wanted to take the proper precautions. _Everything in its season_ , she repeated to herself. Perhaps Jedi weren't meant to have children. But if Obi-Wan was the last of his kind, maybe the old rules didn’t apply. Or would have to change, as his views on celibacy had.

The hot, dry wind burned her eyes and tightened her throat. She closed her eyes, as Obi-Wan had, and felt the twin shudders of hope and fear inside her chest. That was a conversation for another day.

She opened her eyes and nodded to him with a small smile, which he returned before he faced the Ho'Din again and they spoke quietly together about the various contraceptive herbs. The weight of the pack on her shoulder was steadying; it reminded her of that bit of wisdom Obi-Wan had shared from his Master: be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of the present. But today, past, present, and future had converged. Her parents lived, she had--or would soon have--a lover, and they might choose--or not choose--to become parents themselves.

First, they'd go home and finish the work they'd started, transplant their seedlings and continue to nurture them as they grew. With reverence to the Maker, indeed.

At last the herbalist handed Obi-Wan a small paper sack, and this time it was he who bowed. "May your garden be blessed."

Side by side, they continued on their way to the junk shop. Sabé could think of nothing else to say, although there was so very much. Looking at Obi-Wan for a cue, she observed that his features were as relaxed as she'd seen them, apart from in meditation--or when they'd had torve weed with Mari and Sim. The quiet between them needn't be filled. She let out her breath, long and slow, and accepted the peaceful silence while the sounds of the morning shoppers hummed around them.

As they drew closer to the center of the market, she slowly began to register individual voices raised in bargaining or refusal, vendors hawking their wares, a beggar clinking her coins in a metal cup. She delved into her skirt pocket for a few druggats to offer the old woman when she felt Obi-Wan stiffen beside her.

Looking up, Sabé saw his eyes darting about as though danger were near. He turned to face an alley. Unfamiliar dialects--more outlanders, she supposed--crackled through the voice processors of helmets.

Helmets.

Sabé dropped her sack and froze. Felt a hand--Obi-Wan’s--clutch her shoulder.

“--getting too old for this shit,” one of the voices said, his accent narrow and forward.

“You were _born_ too old for this shit,” said another, in an identical cadence and pitch to the first. Then laughter.

She knew these voices. They’d taunted her through her waking hours for a year and a half, still haunted her in sleep. _Troopers_.

“Clones,” whispered Obi-Wan as he hefted her pack and thrust it at her again. “Let’s get inside.”

He drew up his hood, tugging the edges far over his face, and turned to cut through the arched doorway of a café. Nauseated by the odors of what passed for food, Sabé kept her eyes and ears trained for more Troopers, hand hovering near her hip where her blaster was concealed beneath her jacket. Even if they hadn't come for him--the Empire couldn't know he was here, could it?--they would be on him with one flash of his lightsaber. They were outnumbered. What if she couldn’t save him?

Or maybe they'd tracked _her_ here, at last, through Saw Gerrera, the stolen shuttle, freight captains who'd hired her on…an intercepted message in Naboo spy cant...Who would protect her parents?

Her breath came in shallow wheezes, but she couldn’t afford to lose it, not now. She was trained for this, and she would fight to the end--

"Recruiting," Obi-Wan's low voice droned over the sickening thudding of her heart as they stepped through a side entrance.

"What?"

"The Clones." He led her through a maze of domed buildings along a narrow street--a residential area, it appeared. "I heard a man at the counter bragging that his son just joined up."

"Why would they need to recruit civilians? Isn't that the entire point of a Clone Army?"

They came to a curb, and as they waited for a few speeders to pass, Obi-Wan faced her, his expression sad. "The Clones age rapidly. Cloning more is expensive. The value of civilian life is worth far less to the Empire than it was to the Republic. But," he added, giving her shoulder a squeeze, "I sense no imminent danger to us. Trooper presence isn't ideal, but it's routine. _He_ isn't here."

Obi-Wan started to turn, but she grasped his hand until he faced her again. Wordlessly, she asked if he was sure, _really_ sure. At his nod, she crossed with him.

The street appeared liquid under the heat as they ducked into another shop. An outfitter's. On their way through, they pretended to browse the clothing racks until they exited the opposite doorway, which was across from the entrance of Watto's.

Wulfric hadn’t arrived; it wasn’t time yet, although to Sabé’s pounding heart it felt like hours since they’d left the herbalist’s stall. They scanned the street for Troopers and, seeing none, strolled as casually as they could into the junk dealer’s business.

Sabé was still blinking and rubbing her eyes when she felt something rush at her and throw spindly arms around her waist. Automatically, she wrapped an arm around the head and kicked an ankle behind her attacker’s and threw him to the ground, then drew her blaster.

It was pointed at Dojj.

“I like a lady who packs heat,” he said.

“Hands away,” she said, holstering her weapon once more, “from me and my blaster. You scared the poodoo out of me.”

Still lying on the floor where she’d tossed him, he pointed a grimy finger. “You’re picking up the lingo, good, good.”

Dojj’s teeth gleamed white in the gloom of the space as he stood and brushed himself off, and she couldn’t help but return the smile even as her heart clenched again for the recent loss of his sister. Sabé wanted to ask after Cosi but knew she couldn’t; it was unlikely the boy and his mother even knew where she’d been sent.

The kid turned to Obi-Wan and extended his arm. "I never did get to shake your hand for, erm, dealing with Watto."

"I'm sure I have no clue what you're talking about," Obi-Wan replied evenly, his face solemn as he returned the handshake.

"Sure, Mister Ben." Dojj gave an exaggerated wink, grin widening. "Don't suppose you'd teach me any of that wizard stuff, then?"

"You don't want to emulate the hermit known in town as Crazy Ben."  

"Seems to be working out for you, though. Place of your own...gorgeous girlfriend…" He waggled his eyebrows at Sabé, who shook her head and moved off to examine a rack of wiring and other electrical components, trying in vain to still her racing heart. The boy prattled on as though he had weapons pulled on him every day. "You don't even _look_ too crazy anymore, now you've discovered razors and combs. Not so sure about that little bun, though--"

"Dojj," came the soft voice of his mother, who'd just emerged from the back room and thankfully didn’t appear to have seen Sabé’s response to her son’s greeting. Nora, she remembered. "You're supposed to have these parts cleaned up before Watto comes back from Akim's Munch."

The boy scowled, but went to the counter and picked up a stiff-bristled brush and a grimy metal tube from the bucket she'd indicated. His mother watched him for a moment, forehead buckling, and Sabé thought the woman looked older than the last time they visited the junk shop. She didn't have to be a mother herself to know that Nora was in hell having one child taken from her, and fearing the other would be, too.

Her eyes flicked up from Dojj’s face to meet Sabé's across the shop. "Can I help you find something?"

As she showed Sabé the selection of timers and wiring, Dojj resumed his conversation with Obi-Wan, who joined him at the counter. "Maybe I don't want to be the Wizard of the Wastes. Some people in the quarters talk about this slave boy who went off to be a Jedi. Skywalker."

Sabé's gaze drifted from the circuit boards to Obi-Wan, but his expression remained inscrutable. In the same morning, two boys had talked about Anakin Skywalker. It shouldn't have surprised her that the young hero of the Clone Wars was a local legend. But the they may as well have been talking about two different people, their perspectives were so different. To Wulfric, he was the boy wonder of podracing, while Dojj held up Anakin as a personal hero.

"We used to hope he'd come back and free us," Dojj said, brandishing a length of rusty pipe like a lightsaber, approximating laser sounds. "Those of us who believed the story really happened, anyway."

"I'm afraid if it did, it didn't have a happy ending," Obi-Wan said, hunching beneath his cloak as he crossed his arms. "For anyone."

“Yeah, I heard about what happened to the Jedi.” Dojj lowered his makeshift lightsaber to the counter and began to scrub at it. "Least he didn't die a slave. Mom always says there are two ways out of here. In a coffin, or on an Imperial starship."

Obi-Wan's face flickered, almost like a wince, then he straightened up and faced Dojj. "There are Clone Troopers in town. Recruiting for the Empire." When Dojj stopped scrubbing and gave him an interested look, he went on, almost sternly, "You're too young, but they may let you join up regardless. The offer will seem tempting, but don't do it."

"Well, whaddya know," Watto's gravelly voice joined the conversation as he flapped through the doorway. "For once I agree with something Crazy Ben says. These Imps...they'll tank the economy."

Obi-Wan's mouth curled in an expression of utter disgust that his opinion of the Empire should be lumped with a sleemo like Watto's, but then he pressed his lips together in a colorless line as if to physically hold back a withering remark, lest it backfire and bring yet more harm to Dojj and Nora. Likewise, Sabé swallowed her own comment about economies based on free labor.

"I mean it, young one." Obi-Wan addressed Dojj in a lower tone meant for his ears, not Watto’s, though Sabé was close enough to hear. "They’ll seem like your friends for as long as they need to be...until the day that they don’t. It would only be exchanging one master for another."

"No going out there today, kid," said Watto, scratching his backside as he hovered in the doorway to watch the scene in the plaza. "Not while those Troopers are out there trying to steal my help."

Sabé looked to Obi-Wan in alarm--the Clones were in this neighborhood, too?--but his attention was on Dojj, who gave him a skeptical look.

"Besides," Watto went on, flapping to the counter, "you were supposed to have this stuff cleaned up already."

That was the most politeness Sabé had ever heard from Watto. She scooped up the timer and all the wiring she’d selected and dumped it in front of him on the countertop. “Ten for everything,” she said.

“That’s robbery. Thirty.”

“Need I point out that this--all of this--is used and you probably scavenged it for free?” She leaned over the counter and whispered, “Not to mention that you’ve got one less mouth to feed at the moment.” She glanced at Nora; fortunately, she hadn’t heard that last comment. There was no need to twist the knife.

“You underestimate the cost of running a business like this, little lady.” Watto’s condescending tone made Sabé want to punch him right in his flaccid nose.

She narrowed her eyes. “If you’d rather deal with the man of the house, I’m happy to let Ben negotiate with you. But I warn you, he’s been in a mood lately.”

Taking his cue, Obi-Wan glared at Watto and curled his hands into fists. The Toydarian fluttered backward until his wings skimmed the bins behind him. “I can part with it for twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

Watto’s exclamation of indignation was cut off by Obi-Wan’s quiet step forward. “All right, all right, fifteen! Just pay me and go! All this trouble, I don’t know who you think you are…”

They stashed the last of the equipment in their packs and, with nods to Dojj and his mother, stood in the doorway as though deciding where to go next. Pulling her scarf snugly over her features, Sabé scanned the busy street and saw nothing, but Obi-Wan elbowed her and pointed toward the plaza, where a crowd had gathered. With his hood tugged low, she couldn’t see his face, but the set of his shoulders and the wide stance of his feet told her everything she needed to know.

To one side of the throng hovered a speeder. “Is that--?”

Obi-Wan didn't answer as he searched the faces in the crowd for the dark-haired teenager who was not in his parents' speeder as he was supposed to be. Sabé's heart thudded behind her ribs, then sank heavily into the pit of her stomach. Mari and Sim had trusted them to watch over their son...She narrowed her eyes, arched up onto her toes, trying to see over the people in the street, but there were too many, and he was just a scrappy adolescent. Shouldering her pack, she stepped out, but Obi-Wan caught her elbow.

"I see him. Speaking with that Trooper." He spoke in a monotone, moderating his emotions. Anger? Fear? Both, more likely.

He reached into his pocket for his comlink. Sabé kept her eyes on Wulfric, saw him give that characteristic toss of his head to shake his shaggy hair out of his eyes. Although she couldn't hear the chirp of his comlink, she knew that it had, because Wulfric jolted. Under other circumstances, it would've been amusing the way his shoulders shot upward and his head ducked. _Caught._ He gave the Trooper a sheepish grin and stepped away to answer.

"Sabé and I are waiting for you in the speeder."

"Yes, sir," replied Wulfric, as submissively as if Obi-Wan had spoken much more harshly to him. He hadn't been harsh at all, in fact. But even Sabé wouldn't have questioned the steel in his gaze as he nodded toward the speeder.

As they stowed their packs in the storage panel, Wulfric's loping stride brought him to the vehicle.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, "I just wanted to hear what--"

Obi-Wan leapt into the driver’s seat and nodded to Wulfric to join him up front. Sabé climbed into the back.

Though Obi-Wan navigated the speeder with more care than Wulfric had, his simmering anger made the first few minutes of their trip home feel more dangerous than when the teenager had piloted. From her vantage point, she could see the kid squirming and tossing his hair, fidgeting with the end of his belt, counting the studs on the front panel with a finger.

Finally, when he could no longer stand the cold shoulder, he turned to Obi-Wan, with a glance behind him at Sabé. “You’re not going to tell them, are you?”

There was a long silence. Sabé wanted to shout, _Of course we’re going to tell them, because you were being a kriffing idiot and you need to know better_. But Obi-Wan said nothing. Wulfric looked at Sabé, who felt her features harden in a glare that Mari would’ve appreciated.

“That depends.”

The boy whipped his head toward Obi-Wan and waited for him to continue. “On what?” he asked, exasperated.

“On whether you want to be seen as a boy or as a man. A man would own up to his mistakes.”

Wulric’s pale cheeks reddened as he stared at Obi-Wan, but nothing more was said. He turned away and slouched in his seat, staring out at the horizon for the rest of the trip as though he were the only passenger.

When they arrived at the homestead, Tuva and Gunnar were playing near one of the sheds. The kids waved wildly and shouted, "Wulfie's home! Wulfie's home!" only to notice that their elder brother sat in the passenger seat instead of behind the wheel.

"Dad! Dad!" Tuva bolted toward the shed. "I think Wulfie's in trouble!"

"Kriffing sisters," Wulfric muttered, sliding down further in the seat.

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Sabé felt a swell of pity for him. It was bad enough having to face your own wrongdoing with your parents without the added humiliation of siblings standing witness. Then again, maybe setting an example for the little ones would drive the lesson home more effectively.

As Obi-Wan cut the engine, Sim burst out of the shed, wiping his hands on a rag, which he stuffed into his belt. "Is it the speeder?" Around the passengers climbing out, he circled the vehicle, inspecting the sides for damage. Finding none, he turned his attention to his son, who stared down at his boots. “What happened?”

“I screwed up, Dad,” he said quietly, face aflame. But he raised his eyes to meet his father’s.

“Tell me, don’t make me wait.”

Mari emerged from the main house, with Dayne trailing behind in an apron, and Sim waved her hurriedly over.

“All right, what?” Sim repeated. “Spill it.”

Wulfric's dark eyes darted to his mother, and his flush deepened. Beneath his tunic, his chest rose and fell. “I talked to an Imperial recruiter," he blurted out.

"You...a _what_?" asked Sim.

"They said I could go to the Academy," Wulfric said. "Be a pilot. Maybe even an officer one day…"

Mari's hand shot up to cover her mouth. "Wulfie, you _didn't_."

"I'm sorry, Mom." The teenager blinked hard and sniffled. Sabé couldn't help but feel _she_ should be the one apologizing, for not keeping a closer watch on her friends' son. She'd been too wrapped up in her own fear to think about Wulfric… "I know you and Dad hate the Empire--"

Her freckled hands grasped him by the shoulders. "You didn't sign anything, did you? Give them your name, tell them where we live? _Tell me you only talked_."

Wulfric shook his head vigorously, hair flipping. "No! I didn't do any of that. Ben stopped me before I--"

He looked back at Obi-Wan, who gave him a slight nod. His anger had left him, and he was proud of Wulfric for confessing. But sadness was etched deeply around his eyes and mouth. Sabé took his hand; his exhaustion was evident in the loose curl of his fingers around hers. How many times had he handled similar near-disasters with Anakin, with no one but the Jedi Council to back him up?

"I'm sorry," Wulfric went on. "I'm sorry, I didn't think--" His eyes darted to the faces of his brother and sisters, who looked on, not comprehending. But Wulfric's understanding shone in his eyes. Tears fell.

Mari folded him against her, but he looked at Sim over her shoulder.

"Dad? Are you mad?"

Sim inhaled sharply through his nose, then huffed out his breath. "Among other strong emotions," he said, biting off the words. "I think you should go to your room until I can discuss this rationally. Your mother and I will talk with you later."

Wulfric disentangled himself from Mari’s embrace and, with one last look at her, shuffled off as he was told to do.

“I’m sorry you had to see all that,” she said to Obi-Wan and Sabé as she planted a boot on the side of the speeder and hoisted herself over the side. “I’ll take you home. Hopefully you got all you needed?”

“We did,” said Sabé as she joined her in the front.

_But at what cost?_


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincerest apologies to our dear readers as we return to posting only once per week on Mondays. Real life has delayed completion of the final chapter, and we want to make sure we have ample time to tweak what’s coming and to give you the best final chapter possible. Thanks for your patience!

The last of the hydroponic equipment stowed at the foot of the cellar stairs, Obi-Wan trudged back up and hung his cloak on its hook in the hallway. A glance through the side door window revealed Sabé and Mari to be still talking beside the speeder, though he couldn’t see their faces as the afternoon wind picked up; they’d tugged their scarves across their noses and mouths to unload the gear.

Reaching into his backpack, he withdrew the packet of herbs for contraceptive tea. Stared at it. Set it on the kitchen shelf. Went to make his farewells to Mari. As he reached for the door, he stopped.

Mari and Sabé hugged, and the wind whipped their scarves and the hems of the skirts as though they were two vines entwined, with colorful leaves quivering in the breeze.

He waited, a small smile lifting his cheeks, until they’d disengaged, and then he stepped outside. Mere weeks ago the Starfalls' speeder had hovered in his yard because Sim and Mari heard rumors about their strange hermit neighbor bringing a woman from town, possibly against her will. Now, it represented one more aspect of their friendship and generosity.

Their trust.

Crossing to the speeder, Obi-Wan repeated his thanks for the use of it, and started to apologize again for Wulfric's encounter with the Troopers. Mari shushed him.

"Wulfie made a choice. A dumb choice. You're not to blame. Sim and I are just grateful you were looking out for him." Her strong, freckled hand found Obi-Wan's shoulder and pulled him against her for a hug. When she drew back, she said in quite a different tone, "I can't believe your seedlings are ready to be transplanted already. How'd you do it? Magic?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied. Sabé kept a straight face, too, though her eyes danced.

Mari shook her head and climbed into the the speeder. "You'll call me when the garden's all finished? The suspense is killing me."

"We'll have you over for the grand opening tour." Sabé's arm snaked around Obi-Wan's waist, his around her shoulders as they watched until Mari and the speeder dipped into the valley and out of sight.

As one, they made their way back inside where, once the door was shut and silence enfolded them at last, they looked at each other.

“What now?” asked Sabé. She didn’t have to voice her feelings; so much had happened since this morning that it was almost too much to think about, much less discuss. “Eat? Sleep?”

Despite his fatigue, Obi-Wan felt his smile return. “Work.”

Her exhausted grin matched his, and she led the way to the cellar.

It felt good to toil in the still quiet of the enclosed space as they attached the pump and timer, trailed drip lines from the cistern to the towers, and hung the grow lights from the ceiling pipes. They collaborated in companionable silence, only speaking when clarification was needed, but sharing frequent touches as they brushed shoulders in passing or grazed hands when aligning the flexible piping.

The hours stretched long into the night, though they felt like minutes, and it was only when Obi-Wan’s stomach gave a comical gurgle while he watched Sabé hunched at the workbench that he excused himself to prepare a meal.

As he waited for water to boil and leftover carrots and potatoes to warm, he found himself staring again at the packet of herbs that he would need to start drinking when Sabé’s implant expired.. Earlier today they’d made their choice, together, under the light of the suns, and it felt good. It felt right.

They had time.

When the kettle whistled, he poured their usual tea and added some sugar. He felt Qui-Gon behind his shoulder as he stirred the mugs, but closed his eyes and dismissed him.

This moment, these moments, were theirs. Together.

He added flatbread to their plates and set everything on a tray to carry downstairs, where he found Sabé just as he’d left her--goggles on, brow furrowed, her entire body curled toward the circuit board to which she soldered bits of nondescript wire. He set down the tray and drew up the stepladder as a stool to the end of the L-shaped workbench. He bit off some bread.

She was so focused that he began to wonder whether she'd noticed he'd left and returned at all, but after a moment she said, "You're staring at me."

Her fingers still moved, twisting the wires, now and then touching the hot iron to the metal bits, and she kept her gaze on her work.

"Mmm." Obi-Wan swallowed. "Guilty as charged. I can't take my eyes off you."

He loved the pucker between her eyebrows, the purse of her lips as she worked. One corner hitched upward, and Sabé lifted her eyes to meet his briefly behind the goggles before returning them to the circuits.

"If we end up with faulty wiring, you'll have only yourself to blame."

Obi-Wan grinned around another bite. "The charm's working, then?"

"I meant you're distracting me."

"Ah. I see." He pushed her untouched plate toward her, nudging her elbow. "Since you're already distracted, maybe you should take a break to eat. Wouldn't want hunger to lead to faulty wiring, would we?"

Sabé glanced down at the food as though noticing it for the first time. She put aside her work, slid the goggles up to rest on top of her head, and they tucked into their meal with the voraciousness of laborers.

"When was the last time we ate?" she asked.

"Doughnuts at the Sorens'."

"That feels like ages ago."

"It _was_ ages go."

"You know what I mean."

Obi-Wan nodded. Much had transpired since their pleasant refreshment with Mari's mother and father. Sabé's gaze held his for a long moment as she sipped her lukewarm tea. They hadn't discussed any of it, apart from what involved Wulfric with his parents, and a bit more of the same with a stoic Mari on the way home from the Starfalls’. Part of him was reluctant to disturb the peace with a reminder of the incident and the trauma it had dredged up for her. He'd felt the shudders in the Force, twins to his own, as they slunk through the back streets of Mos Espa, avoiding the Clones. He also knew their long days of avoiding conversation about their pain were past.

"How are you?" he asked.

Sabé placed her mug on the workbench and wrapped her fingers around it. Her eyes still held his.

“Surprisingly...all right.” A laugh huffed from her lips. “Not _well_ , mind you, but...well enough.”

It was good to hear her acknowledge it. His own struggles swirled through his mind like a sudden windstorm: the guilt he’d shouldered at having survived; the self-recrimination at all he’d done, or hadn’t done; the audacity of carrying on…

She’d lived this, too, and kept going. Today was proof.

"What about you?" she asked. "The Troopers...the _Clones_...They were only my jailers, but...they were your men. Friends?"

"It's unlikely I knew _those_ particular Clones, but…yes."

It had been friends who’d turned their blasters on him. Who he'd fought in the halls of the ravaged Temple. Their voices in the alley had made him relive those nightmare moments today.

"I'm the one who found them, you know," Obi-Wan told her. "The secret cloning facility on Kamino."

His damned curiosity. He’d always been so curious.

Sabé said nothing to that--what was there to say? He'd been down this path before; there was no need to turn down it again. He couldn't change the past. _He_ hadn't commissioned the project, and he wasn't the only Jedi who'd been manipulated by Darth Sidious. With a sigh, he released those feelings.

"I'm well enough, too."

And he would be better. Once, he'd never entertained such hope, but now...

He placed his hand over Sabé's wrists as she still clutched the teacup. The pad of his thumb stroked the delicate jutting bones.

"I hope it doesn't sound condescending," he said, "but I'm proud of you."

Her eyebrows went up. "Why would that be condescending? I'm proud of you, too. Not long ago we'd have had a day like today and just gone to sleep after."

She'd uncurled her hand from around the cup, turning it so her warm palm pressed to his, fingers weaving together.

“As tired as I am right now,” Obi-Wan said, “I’m not sleepy at all.”

“Let’s keep working,” Sabé agreed.

He carried the dirty dishes back up to the kitchen, loaded them into the sonic dishwasher, wiped down the counter. Returning to the cellar, he found Sabé had already immersed herself once more in her circuitry work. He didn't ask if she needed his assistance; electronics weren't his speciality, although he'd jury-rigged enough broken-down starships and the power in his hovel. Sometime, he'd ask how she became so knowledgeable, but for now, he left it to her capable hands, without his questions interrupting her train of thought, for the intricate task seemed to have a calming effect on her mind.

He puttered around, carrying down the seedling trays, adjusting the grow lights and checking the seals on the drip lines, but that didn't take long. After standing in the middle of the room for a moment, pondering what to do with his energy, he tidied the storage shelves, swept the floor.

"You're making me nervous, pacing around like that." Sabé's crisp tones cut through the rasp of the broom.

"Sorry."

He plopped down on the stepladder he'd occupied while they ate, until her nimble fingers went still again.

"Obi-Wan."

"Hm?"

"Must you watch me?"

"Must you summon me always?" An arch of her eyebrows silenced the flirtation. "I don't have anything to do."

Sabé tilted her head, considering. "We need pebbles for the mesh pots. You could go out and find some."

"It's the middle of the night."

"We can't transplant the seedlings without them. This planet has three moons. _Go_."

Without delay, Obi-Wan stood, bobbing his head in a slight bow. "As you command."

He felt her eyes trail him as he ascended the stairs and through the trapdoor. Without pausing, he grabbed a lantern from the shelf in the hall and plucked his cloak from its peg, slinging it over his shoulders as he stepped through the side door into the night.

As though Sabé had summoned them, too, Tatooine's moons had risen, but not all three had reached their zenith, nor were they full. He turned on the lantern and held it in front of him to light his steps as he crossed the yard. It illuminated the cloud of his breath, and the chill also amplified the night sounds--the chirps of insects, the cries of predators echoing across the miles, the crunch of his own boots in the sand and the wind catching the hem of his cloak.

The eopie shed and rail fence stood silhouetted against the moonlit desert backdrop. Shivering beneath his robe, he opened the rough plank door and slipped into the shelter, at once blanketed by the heavy odors of straw and manure and the animal himself, who curled on the ground with ungainly limbs tucked beneath him. At the creak of the door, Nagpal raised his head, blinked sleepy eyes, and gave a low bleat.

"My apologies for dropping in unannounced at this hour," Obi-Wan murmured, stooping to stroke the beast's head. "Most ill-mannered, I know. Sabé has temporarily banished me from the house, and she's not a woman to be argued with." He would most humbly comply with the Queen's bidding.

Yet it hadn't been her old monotone that sent him out. She'd reminded him more of Mari Starfall keeping her household running like a fine-tuned machine. His pulse quickened as, without permission, his imagination produced images of bustling farm life here on this scrap of a homestead. Sabé with a young one trailing her skirt...or a brood. He could give her that, if she wished for it. The thought was empowering.

Nagpal gave another bleat, and Obi-Wan straightened up.

"No, I won't be bedding down with you. It's a rather more gaseous atmosphere in here than I prefer--no offense. Actually, I've just come to borrow a bucket. With your permission, of course." He retrieved the one he used to fill Nagpal's trough. "Thanks, my fellow."

Pail in one hand, lantern in the other, Obi-Wan went back out into the open. Sabé had set him to a simple enough task; pebbles were plentiful on the hillside below his hovel, rocks tossed by the wild desert winds and shattered into fragments. He gathered handfuls and showered them into the bucket. Crouching on the ground, rocks clutched in his fists, he must look like a child in the vastness of the wasteland, beneath the expanse of the sky. _Truly wonderful, the mind of a child is_ , Master Yoda had always said. So Obi-Wan carried on, scooping up pebbles, spreading his fingers to let them slide between them as the nutrient-rich water would stream through and nourish the seedlings.

When he'd filled the bucket, he stood and hiked back up the hill. He should've minded his footing, but the upward path drew his gaze. At the top of the hill he stumbled and stopped. Shut off his lantern. Stared up at space, unobstructed by any lights but the shine of billions of stars. The occasional comet's tail streaked through, or a shuttle leaving the planet's orbit. How many times had Obi-Wan stood here, wishing he were aboard one, bound for almost any world in the galaxy but this one?

Smiling, he lowered his gaze, hefted the bucket and turned his lamp on once more as he resumed his walk to the little synstone hovel.

Anyway, he hated flying. He belonged down here. Feet planted firmly on the ground. Or below it, buried with Sabé deep in their cellar garden.

Or in her.

Again the silence of the house enfolded Obi-Wan when he shut the door and stowed his cloak, boots, and lamp, but it was a different quiet that met him. Cocking his head, he listened, but of course the answers lay below ground. He descended the steps, the pebbles settling as they shifted in the pail, and found Sabé, arms akimbo with her back to him as she regarded her handiwork on the table.

“We’re ready,” she said, and it was as though she’d whispered it into his ear.

Without a pause, she took up the circuit board and the power drill, mounting it beside the breaker box on the wall between the cistern and workbench. Obi-Wan felt suddenly helpless as he watched her finish attaching the rest of the power lines with hands that shook slightly. They both needed sleep, but he sensed no fatigue in the tremor. It was a strange, solemn anticipation; feeling it, too, his heart pounded. The very air throbbed with it.

Silently, standing side by side at the workbench, they sifted a portion of the pebbles into the bases of the mesh baskets, leaving room for the roots of their seedlings and the rest of the stabilizing stones.

After a lingering glance, they turned as one toward the dirt-filled trays.

Using their bare hands seemed right, so they did. It felt good to slide fingers down into the loose, slightly damp soil, releasing an earthy musk as fragile roots emerged, quivering as they shed their dirt. One by one, Obi-Wan and Sabé settled the seedlings into their new growing media and installed them in the openings of the garden towers, adjusting the drip lines like so many blood vessels as they went. Back and forth they moved across the cellar, sometimes singly, more often as a pair, and he noticed as they dug, tugged, and shook off the soil that her fingernails and nail beds had grown as black as the space between stars.

Her hands had been dirty the day he found her in Mos Espa, but that had been grime from freighters, the dust of Tatooine's streets. Death beneath her nails and caked in the creases of her palms, not this nourishing earth that had brought the seeds they'd planted to bud.

Bit by bit, they filled the openings in the towers and added the rest of the pebbles to secure the seedlings, the aggregation of duraplast all but hidden beneath tender foliage in every verdant shade. With the heads of pink lettuce and red cabbage interspersed, they looked like columns wrapped in floral garlands for a festival or holy day. Indeed, it was; as the Ho'Din herbalist said, there was no greater reverence to the Maker than the creation of a garden.

A quiet focus and common purpose had always seemed like home to Obi-Wan, and he'd been without either for so long he often wondered if he'd ever experienced such luxury--for it felt like luxury indeed, after all this time. The decadence of losing oneself in a task, the thrill of sharing it with a partner--these things were true freedom, the marks of safety and belonging. And now that he-- _they_ \--had a home, it was only fitting that a garden would follow.

Even the Temple had a meditation garden.

No speech was necessary while they worked, and in the quiet, musky cellar, under the bright grow lights, Obi-Wan slipped into a waking meditation. His body carried out tasks while his mind enumerated blessings, for each seedling was proof of them. Beside him, Sabé’s silence echoed his own; her peace became his strength, as perhaps his was to her, just as the delicate stems and leaves of their plants clung to each other as they grew. Power and vulnerability, thought and action. It was all one, as Qui-Gon had tried to tell him. As he now knew.

With the final mesh pot gently ensconced in its slot, it was time to try the system. Obi-Wan crouched next to the cistern and switched on the pump. Coming to his feet, he and Sabé watched each other, breathless, as they waited while odd noises emanated from the metal tank and the pump. After a time, the gurgling and sucking sounds diminished, and the flexible piping shifted. Sabé’s eyes darted upward to follow what she couldn’t see--the water flowing through the white, opaque lines toward their precious garden. Moving along with the twitching pipelines, she came to a stop in front of the towers at the foot of the stairs, and Obi-Wan, without thinking of doing so, trailed her.

 _Drip_ . _Drip_ . _Drip_.

Droplets appeared from the uppermost lines, trickled down within the towers into the roots. They waited for long minutes until the first tiny, spent drops had done their work and landed in the trough at the bottom of the towers, where they would pass back to the filter and then into the cistern again, picking up nutrients at the pump, again and again. Waste not, want not.

It worked. They'd done it. Obi-Wan watched the system, not exactly in disbelief, but in wonder. Then he looked at Sabé, whose chest rose and fell quickly, a flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks like a growing vine. He could almost see the rapid beat of her pulse in the hollow of her throat.

She faced him, but her brows pulled together. "What's that?" she asked her at the same moment as he became aware of low buzz, growing louder.

"It sounds like a--"

The buzzing noise ceased, as did the flow of water, as they were plunged into pitch blackness.

"--power surge."

Obi-Wan felt the ripple of Sabé's silent laugh.

"I'll flip the breaker," he said.

He'd left the lantern upstairs--blast it all--so had to feel his way along the perimeter of the cellar. In the still dark, the only sounds were of breathing, the rustle of clothing as they moved, his fingertips sliding over the surfaces. At last his they brushed the cold metal door of the fuse box. Inside, the indicator lights glowed, and he pressed the buttons to restore the power.

The garden system instantly came back to life, drip lines flowing and grow lights shining. He opted not to turn the ceiling light back on, lest they trip the circuits again.

"Tomorrow we can adjust the--"

His tongue ceased to form words as he turned and saw Sabé in profile. Tall and slender and...

Utterly naked.

With cheeks as ruddy as a ripe sun-apple, she turned, chin held high, to meet his gaze.

There was a moment of taking her in--smooth skin marred by a multitude of scars; perfect, dark nipples; strong, shapely legs with a promise nestled between them--and then he was coming toward her to take her jaw in his hands and capture her mouth, his tongue seeking hers almost at once.

When her hands combed through his hair, he freed his and tugged at his belt. He gasped for her kiss as he pulled back to yank his tunic over his head, groaned in gratitude when he found it again. Their bodies pressed together, fitting in all the right places, but with his trousers he couldn’t get close enough, so he quickly shed them along with his underwear, kicking them away as he stepped into her.

The crush of muscle to muscle, skin on skin, made them draw back. Sabé’s eyes remained half-lidded, pupils blown wide with desire, lips parted as her breath came in rapid puffs, her fingers raking along his buttocks and hips to draw him closer. Every molecule of his body seemed directed toward the damp lushness below, the center of her need and his own. Already poised at her entrance, he felt the pliant heat there, the ease with which he would slide in and bury himself.

He reached down to grasp the back of her leg--but then he noticed his hand, soil under each fingernail, across the backs of his knuckles, on his palms.

“My hands are dirty,” he managed as he looked back up at her, only then seeing the dirt he'd left on her face.

“So are mine,” she replied. As if in challenge, she ran them across his shoulders and chest, leaving a smear of earth behind.

A growl rumbled in his chest, and he took her nipple in his mouth, delighting in the cry that burst from her throat and the way her dirty nails raked along his scalp. His own filthy fingers grasped her undulating hips to hold them steady as he tended to one breast and then the other, marveling at their beauty, their taste, how sweetly his lips and tongue could slide along them…

Another buck from her hips reminded Obi-Wan of what he’d intended to do before he’d allowed the distraction of the grime on his hands. He wrapped his fingers around the back of her knee, his other arm supporting her back. Looking into her eyes, he took her slight nod as permission to lower her to the rug.

Now, with resistance at her back, he could press more firmly against her, and her knees hugged his hips as he moved, reveling in her soft, wet warmth...such beckoning, her call and his response. Their tongues wound together, deeper, he could barely breathe, but he had to be closer. Supporting himself on his elbows, he drew back to look into her eyes, as if he couldn’t already sense that every inch of Sabé said _yes_.

He adjusted his hips, and she wriggled hers, so that he was _there_. Slowly, gently, he pressed forward, upward, and suddenly he was ever so slightly inside. They breathed together, pausing to take in in this moment before attempting the next one. When he moved again, deeper, inward, her eyelids fluttered shut, and he stopped again. She opened them, and he kissed her. Moved again. His own moan forced him to wait this time, leaning his forehead into hers as he caught his breath.

He was hers. He was her. They were one, as it should be, as it always had been.

When he moved again, he was buried in her tight heat, and now he couldn’t stop. He kept going, slowly, deliberately, to make it last, for it seemed right to honor this moment, this union, with attention and care. Each movement a meditation, like the forms they'd practiced together, though now they were both learners and teachers. Somehow, he felt he had always known this, known her. She was both his question and his answer, as he was hers.

“I love you,” he murmured into her mouth, felt her nod as she kissed him fervently, reverently.

She returned his gift, a whisper in his ear, “I love you,” before she kissed that, too.

Together they found the ebb and flow, a motion like sea waves that loosened locked-up bodies and carried them on the tide ever closer to a new, shining shore. Their skin grew salty with sweat, and Obi-Wan kissed it from her shoulder, just as Sabé licked his from her own lips before he gave her more to taste. He would drift here forever, he decided, roiling and rolling with her, into her, for her.

He felt Sabé’s body flush before it happened. The fever spread like a bloom, coloring her chest and cheeks. There was another, sudden burst of sweat, and her body tightened around him. As glorious and new as this was, he knew he had to keep moving, and he did, with intention, following the buck of her hips. _I love you_ , in each thrust. _I love you_ , even if this moment had to end, for there would be more, and better, for good.

Only when his lover lay spent in his arms did he allow himself to change his stroke. Sabé molded herself to him, wrapping her feet around his lower back to take him in deeper, her hands on his buttocks pressing him tighter. He came apart, at long last every atom one with the ocean he’d finally dared to dive into.

Together they lay in blissful surrender, still joined while they panted against each other, his head resting on his arm as he gazed at her profile only a breath away. She turned to look at him. A slow smile stretched lips reddened by the crush of his. He recognized the feeling that look revealed, for it was the same one blossoming within him even now. He’d made a woman of her. She’d made a man of him.

And never would they part.


	21. Chapter 21

Behind his closed eyelids, the grow lights around the perimeter of the room shone on, but the steady drip...drip...drip soon lulled Obi-Wan to sleep. He didn't dream, so when he woke to the drip...drip...drip and the light, he thought he'd only dozed for a few minutes. He was cold. He reached for Sabé's warmth but couldn't find her. For a moment he feared that she, and he with her, had been the dream.

One indrawn breath of damp foliage told him otherwise. He opened his eyes, smiling despite waking alone to find he had done so in their garden. Light from the rising suns filtered hazily through the open trap door. Beyond that, the sonic shower pulsed. At the edge of the rug, Sabé's discarded clothing lay in a crumpled heap with his own. His grin stretched wider as the image blossomed in his mind of her ascending the stairs without a stitch on her lithe body. He pushed to his feet, stiff from sleeping on the hard ground--how had she managed to get up without waking him?--and followed her lead, abandoning his clothes to join her upstairs.

By the time he reached the 'fresher, the sonic shower had shut off. Obi-Wan leaned against the wall, footsteps from the door, and listened to the quiet sounds of Sabé performing her morning ablutions. Her happiness radiated from within, not only in the Force; he heard her humming softly to herself, a tune he caught only snatches of, perhaps not a real song at all. He pictured her still naked as she bathed her face, brushed her teeth, braided her hair, though she might've taken clean clothes to change into. A moment later, however, the door opened, and he was gratified by bare skin.

Sabé pulled up short in the doorway, surprised to see him there, also fully nude. Surprised, but only briefly, and not displeased, eyebrows twitching in appreciation as her eyes raked him.

"Hello there," he said.

Her laugh rang out, a joyous fountain in the Force that made the blood ripple and leap through his veins.

"Good morning," she replied, stepping toward him, shoulder and hip brushing against him as she turned.

The fragrance of Rominaria flowers enticed him, and he reached out, fingers skimming over the curve of her waist as he leaned in to nuzzle at her cheek.

"You smell lovely."

"And you…"

"...don't," he finished for her, drawing his grimy hands back.

"I didn't say that," Sabé said with a coy glance over her shoulder as she padded to the living room.

Obi-Wan stood watching her, debating whether to take his turn in the 'fresher, or to worry about that later and go with her now. Would she stop to put on clothes? No, she kept moving toward the bed.

His body stirred in anticipation; but even if she didn’t want sleep just yet, he doubted she wanted her freshly washed body coated in a new layer of dirt. He turned to step into the ‘fresher.

Before he could set foot inside, another laugh pealed through the house. Obi-Wan glanced back to find Sabé looking at him--his skin warmed under her gaze--and he quirked an eyebrow up in question. She shook her head, clearly with no intention of telling him why her eyes danced in mirth. He discovered the reason for himself when he caught his reflection, bursting out laughing as he twisted to better view the object of her hilarity.

"I take it you've seen my handprints on your bum?" she shouted to him.

“Well done,” he called back, grinning at the thought of Sabé ogling his backside from across the room, even if laughter wasn't quite the effect he'd hoped for.

“I had yours on my boobs.”

“A matching pair, we are.”

He shut the door on her giggle and didn’t stop smiling himself until his shower was nearly complete. After he’d finished his morning routine, he dragged a brush through his hair, but left it hanging. He didn’t intend it to stay tidy for long.

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what he expected to find when he emerged from the ‘fresher. Perhaps Sabé had crawled under the covers and fallen asleep. Maybe she’d gotten hungry and made breakfast. Or decided to dress and go out to tend Nagpal and the vaporator. The sight that greeted him was infinitely more pleasant than any of those outcomes.

Still naked, Sabé stretched across the top of the covers on the bed, arms tucked behind her head, one knee up. She gazed lazily out into the room, perhaps watching the dust motes that floated through the shafts of light from the windows. At the scuff of his soles on the floor, she looked his direction, dark eyes tracking him as he came to the bed. He sat at the edge facing her, fingers curling around her calf just below her knee, stroking the skin behind it until her tendon flexed.

"Ticklish here, too?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I want to know everything about you," Obi-Wan murmured as he bent. He recalled her confession, made under the influence of torve weed, and a promise to himself to fill the house with her laughter. But at the moment he wanted to discover more of her body with his lips. He began with her knee, lingering in the indentation at the edge of the cap.

Her hand found his shoulder. "You should come up here and do that, since you brushed your teeth."

"I will." Keeping hold of her calf, he shifted a little further up the mattress, but didn't raise his head from her leg, kissing his way over the rise of her knee and down her thigh. "In due time."

"You're a tease," Sabé said, but she straightened her leg out to give him access as he moved fully onto the bed, straddling her calves.

"If you say so."

He reached the top of her thigh and kissed the inside, the coarse hair tickling his nose. Again he caught a whiff of Rominaria flowers, with notes of something unfamiliar and intoxicating underneath, ripe and female. Breathing in the scent of her desire heightened his own, made him want to taste her there.

But first he raised lifted his eyes up to her, met her expectant gaze. He pressed his mouth again to her soft inner thigh, then slid his body along the length of hers to kiss her lips. They melted against his with a soft exhale, her fingers dancing over his back and shoulders and into his hair.

After a moment, he pulled back so he could look into her eyes as he asked, "How are you? I have a fairly good idea, but…Are you all right? Any pain?"

Her gaze was so soft, like her fingers stroking his cheek and along his beard. "A slight ache, but in a pleasant way. If that makes sense," she hastened to add. "Nothing to keep me from doing it again." She pushed her hips up against his.

Obi-Wan kissed her once more, then caught her hand and drew it downward. "Show me what feels good. How I should touch you."

Sabé flushed, but not in embarrassment. If anything, it seemed that his request excited her. He let his hand rest gently on hers as she began to touch herself as she’d done two nights ago, and for a time he merely felt the movements of her fingers under his, the tension in her wrist muscles. Pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth now and then, he watched her face, how her eyes fluttered closed, lips parted softly, the way she held her breath from time to time.

When he was satisfied that he’d felt all he could, he kissed her once more, then slid down her body. Sabé’s hand stilled with the absence of his, but he grazed her fingers with his lips in silent urging to continue before nudging her legs apart.

Reverence to the Maker indeed. Here was a flower such as he’d never seen, and he stared, mesmerized, as Sabé tended it. He glanced up when he felt her prop herself up on an elbow to watch him looking, and that small choice made him feel as though he’d burst. She slowed her movements, knowing that he needed to see, to learn. He reflected that he’d never been a more avid pupil.

At last he could wait no longer. Wrapping his hands around her hips, he nuzzled her fingers aside took the flower into his mouth, used his tongue as her fingers had done. Sabé gasped, and he felt a thrill blaze through her, stoking his own desire.

He wanted to make it last for her, measured the strokes of his tongue, but she'd already brought herself so close to the edge that his touch was almost enough to carry her over. She clutched the bedclothes in her fists, as though desperate to hang on. He slid a hand beneath her, into the small of her back, slick with perspiration and arching as her muscles strained toward release. A smile tugged at his lips, that he could make her feel this, but he restrained it lest it interfere with his ministration.

But Sabé's fingers released the blanket, found his jaw and nudged his head up.

"Please," she gritted through her teeth, so white against the flush of her face. "I want you inside me."

He would've seen her to completion without thought to his own satisfaction, but who was he to do anything but comply with her request? She wanted to do this with him. Extricating his hand from beneath her, he surged forward, plunging into her. She cried out, and he feared he'd hurt her, going in all at once instead of easing as he had last night, only to realize she was contracting and releasing around him as wave upon wave carried her. He followed, not needing to prolong his own pleasure, for he wanted only to be where she was, drifting on these ocean currents.

Aftershocks became shudders, and he collapsed against her, felt her hand trembling as it stroked his cheek and beard. His own arms shook, he realized as he pushed himself up to kiss her again and again.

“Food,” he murmured. “Wait here.”

Sabé complied, shooting him a grateful smile and tugging the covers over her while he padded naked into the kitchen. He rummaged through the refrigeration unit, pulling out random leftovers and heaping them onto one plate, then filling two cups of water, which he balanced on the edge of it.

When he returned they sat on the bed facing each other, stuffing potatoes and bristlemelon into their mouths as though they hadn’t eaten in a week. The flatbread was a bit stale, but that didn’t matter, nor did the crumbs that scattered as they chewed laboriously, swallowing the dry mouthfuls with gulps of water. Her taste lingered decadently on his tongue.

“When I have the strength,” Obi-Wan said as he wiped dribbles of water from his beard, “I’ll make an actual meal. And tea. Maybe even some cookies.”

“I intend to keep you in this bed all day,” Sabé said, eyes glimmering wickedly.

Obi-Wan’s heart thudded in approval. “I was hoping you’d say that. But who will feed us?”

She squinted, as though thinking hard. “That’s a conundrum.”

“I suppose Nagpal is wondering where we are.”

“We’ll feed him and check the vaporator, but that’s all the chores I plan on doing today.”

“It’s settled, then.”

Around their grins they finished their hodgepodge breakfast, deposited the plate and cups in the sonic dishwasher, and dressed. Forgoing underwear--it would be a bother to have too many layers to remove when the time came--Obi-Wan chose a pair of loose drawstring trousers. Sabé opted for a tank top instead of a tunic, and he did the same--rather to different effect, as the thin cotton left little of her round breasts and pert nipples to the imagination. The hem stopped shy of her low-slung skirt, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her hipbones.

"How am I supposed to give the vaporator due attention?" he asked. When all he wanted to think of was the jut of her pelvis pressed to his...despite the fact that they’d made love only minutes ago. How quickly he’d fallen, he mused with a smile.

Sabé looked up from tugging on her clunky old boots. "Aren't you trained to focus on your work amidst all forms of distraction?"

"You're testing me?"

She flashed a grin as bright as the twin suns and tromped out the door, not bothering to tie her laces. "Good thing you have me here to keep you on your toes."

"Indeed."

She did, in so many ways. Before Sabé came, he'd fallen into complacency, avoiding emotional connection with anyone, from the people he encountered to his eopie. Everything was different now. Even the rocky hillside on which his hovel stood, the scrubby valley below where Sabé led Nagpal out to graze while he mucked the shed and filled the troughs with fresh water and feed, looked less a barren wasteland to him, and a world with its own unique forms of beauty and life.

For perhaps the first time since he'd come here, Obi-Wan rushed through the farm chores. Prolonging them to fill the lonely hours wasn't necessary anymore. And while he enjoyed not sweltering under his cloak to hide from the suns, it wouldn't take long before their rays did more than pleasantly warm exposed faces, shoulders, and arms. Sabé returned with pink cheeks to corral Napgal, though her flush may have been from her uphill hike. In their haste to get on with the necessary work, they hadn't thought to bring a canteen out. Yet another reason to hurry.

Obi-Wan checked that the vaporator was in good working order, not taxed by their garden's demands.

"In the future, we may want to consider acquiring a second vaporator. There are two of us now, and…"

He trailed off as Sabé, who'd crouched to gather vaporator mushrooms in her skirt, turned her face up to him.

"...and the garden," he concluded, lamely.

Sabé nodded; before she bent to resume her task, Obi-Wan thought he glimpsed the appearance of a dimple.

"Are vaporator parts the sort of thing you can get from Jawas?" she asked.

He barked out a laugh. "They certainly have them. Nearly had mine, in fact."

"You mean they tried to steal it?"

"Fortunately, the wind changed direction at that moment and drove them back to their sandcrawler…"

“The wind.”

He tried to look sheepish and quite possibly succeeded.

"And that's why they bring offerings to the Wizard of the Jundland Wastes." Sabé stood, sandy knees bared as she hitched up her mushroom-laden skirt. "I'm glad our vaporator's safe."

His heart swelled behind his ribs at her use of our. What little he had to offer her, he would gladly share.

"I agree," she said as they made their way back to the house. "It wouldn't hurt to have a second one."

Inside, they went straight to the kitchen, where Obi-Wan scooped the mushrooms from Sabé's skirt into a colander. He didn't get so far as rinsing and draining them before she turned him to face her and tugged at the drawstring of his trousers to loosen them around his hips.

"You're a little sun-kissed," she commented after he peeled off his sweaty tank top.

Obi-Wan craned his neck to see his shoulders reddened around a pale strip. She pressed her lips to his collarbone. The skin there was already sensitive, and would freckle. When had he last had a sunburn? As a teenager? He recalled diving into a clear pool on Chandrila on a rare afternoon off while Qui-Gon negotiated with a local lord on behalf of the Council, which needed access to the rare texts library. The meeting had gone on longer than expected, and Obi-Wan had fallen asleep--shirtless--in the grass. The resulting sunburn prevented him sleeping on his stomach for a week.

If anyone had told him then that twenty-five years later a woman standing in his kitchen might slide her tongue across his pink shoulder, eliciting such carnal response from him, his younger self would've gawped or turned his nose up in a snit. (Privately, no doubt, he would've lost sleep over the idea, and not because of any sunburn.)

Obi-Wan lifted Sabé’s shirt and tugged it over her head, tossing it on top of his discarded one before tracing his fingers over the slick arch of her back. She hmmed in pleasure, her lips continuing their trail of kisses over his deltoid, but she paused when she reached a scar.

“Will you tell me about this one?” she asked.

“I'll tell you about all of them,” he replied, and he felt lighter as he said it. Some burdens were meant to be shared.

Sabé instructed Obi-Wan to go back to bed while she filled two cups at the sink, and he took the opportunity to divest himself of trousers before he sat down cross-legged on the rumpled sheets.

She stopped at the rug when she caught sight of his nude body. “It didn’t take long for you to become wanton, did it?”

“That’s me. Obi-Wanton Kenobi. At your service.”

“I suppose I've no room to judge,” she said through a laugh as she placed a cup on the table, “delivering water without a top on and all.”

“Technically that’s my fault, too.”

She thrust the other cup at him. “Drink.”

As he did, she dropped her skirt and stepped out of it, retrieving her water from the table before she joined him on the bed. She mirrored his position, knees touching. From time to time she wiggled the toes of her bottom foot against his shin. Her gaze returned to his left shoulder, and the scar she'd asked about.

"A Sith lord gave that to me," he told her. "Not Vader," he rasped, realizing what she'd assume.

"The one who…"

She meant Maul, but didn't want to say. Throat tight, Obi-Wan shook his head, swallowed. "The one who led the Separatists. Darth Tyranus. It has a twin, here on my thigh."

Her gaze dropped to it, and she reached out to trace her forefinger over the pale mark.

"Those particular wounds are called shiim. Inflicted intentionally, not to kill, but to taunt, or to immobilize."

"Which kind were these?"

"The immobilizing kind." One corner of Obi-Wan's mouth hitched upward as he put his cup to his lips again. "It was two of us against him, but I was the first Jedi in a thousand years to have killed a Sith lord, and he knew it." That was a touch prideful, even if it was the truth. He took another drink, then twisted slightly to show her his side. "This was also from a lightsaber."

Sabé leaned in to see the faint mark between two ribs. "It looks different."

"It was delivered by a much less skilled swordsman.” He remembered this scar because the boy who’d inflicted it had been a splinter under Obi-Wan’s skin for years. Quinlan Vos was probably dead by now, like the rest; that thought brought him no satisfaction. “When I was much less skilled at blocking."

She studied it, then her eyes raked over his torso, fingers tracing over other scars. "These look the same."

She knew scars. There was strange camaraderie in that--and comfort, as well.

"All from sparring as Padawans."

"I'd say it's mad to put weapons in the hands of children, but…" She swept her hand to indicate her own marred flesh.

Obi-Wan leaned in, identified scars dealt by knives, electrostaves, blasters during her Handmaiden training. Each place he touched, Sabé told him when the injury happened, and under what circumstances, her tone as matter-of-fact as his own.

“I can’t tell what these are." She ran her fingers across the array of circular marks on his neck, and the two at his temple. "They look like cooking oil spatter.”

“Those are from lava,” he said, surprised by the evenness of his voice. “The only scars I have from Mustafar. Where I battled Anakin.”

They grew quiet.

Before, when he allowed himself to think about it, his focus crumpled inward, a malformed spiral that led nowhere useful. Under Sabé’s gaze, so complete with silent understanding, he unfurled. His attention led outward, away from himself, where it should’ve been all along.

Her fingertips lingered at his temple, and Obi-Wan raised his hand, slid it along the electrobaton marks she'd told him about before, until they circled her wrist where the delicate skin had been rubbed raw chafing against her restraints. They would carry their scars forever, but no longer as solitary burdens.

At the same moment they tilted their heads and pressed mouths together. Gently to begin with, expressing gratitude, but with increasing fervor as her fingers combed back through his hair, tugging at it, until her arms were twined around his neck and she settled in his lap. She kissed him harder, sucking at his lower lip, scraping her teeth over it until she released him. Breathless, he blinked until the fuzziness cleared and he saw her gazing back at him, eyes level with his.

"You're beautiful," she said.

Before he could think of contradicting her, she ground her pelvis into his, and his body responded, seeking hers. He could only marvel at how quickly she was ready for him, her slick heat matching his own desire. This was beauty, his part in it beautiful, too. He could accept that.

Although she gripped his shoulders so she could shift in his lap and position herself over him, he scarcely noticed the sting of sunburned skin when she sheathed him. He might have groaned, but his ears were more attuned to the utterances that came from her throat, long neck bent back with her ecstasy. Making love in this position would touch the sweet spot he'd found earlier with his lips and tongue, so he allowed her to set the pace, submitting himself to the roll and retreat of her hips, a shoreline shaped by the sea. A living rhythm which he felt echoed all around them in the Force.

Sex was no mere self-indulgence. It was a gift to be given and received, which would shape them as surely as the scars had done. Battle and strife had chiseled away at them, making them smaller, more brittle, perhaps--certainly less recognizable. Loving brought back what grief had taken, and Obi-Wan felt the expansion of her being, and his own, within all that surrounded them.

After she found her release, he finally allowed himself to change the pace and pressure, his teeth grazing her throat as she groaned with him. When at last his shivers subsided, Sabé pushed him backward onto the bed and collapsed on top of him, her face buried in his neck.

He kept his arms wrapped securely around her and fell asleep.

The suns had shifted when he woke with Sabé curled next to him, nose to his shoulder, hand resting lightly on his lower belly. He stretched, and as he moved she sighed and stirred. How quickly time could slip by, now that it was filled with something greater than himself.

Obi-Wan sat up, feet dangling from the bed, and chuckled when he felt Sabé’s hand bat at him until she found a hip to grab onto to prevent him from rising.

“All right,” she said, groggy, releasing him after a moment, “I’m awake.”

"You don't have to be." He twisted toward her so he could take her in, beautiful even when sleepy. He brushed her hair back from her face--the plait was quite untidy from the pillow and the activities that preceded their morning nap--then leaned over her to kiss her forehead. "I just thought I'd check the garden. Sleep, if you like."

She sighed, and he sat back to see that her eyes were closed. But when he stood, she pushed up on her elbows and stretched out her hand to him.

"I'll get up, really. If you'll help me."

As he drew her to her feet, her eyebrows scrunched together in a slight wince.

"I'm fine," she said, anticipating his concerned question, smiled and squeezed his fingers.

Obi-Wan stooped to retrieve her skirt from the floor, as well as to hide the pleased smirk he couldn't stop his lips from forming. He shook out the garment before he offered it to her. "All the same, we might take a break."

Sabé took her skirt from him, but didn't put it on. "Only a short one," she said, shambling to the step-up into the kitchen, where they'd discarded the rest of their clothes. She scooped them up, draped Obi-Wan's over his shoulder, then disappeared into the refresher to tidy up.

He slipped on his drawstring trousers and tank top and descended the cellar stairs.

The garden had already infused the space with an intoxicating aroma of lush growth, which would only intensify in the coming weeks as the seedlings became hardy vegetables, ready for harvest. In the meantime, they'd plant new seedlings to transplant to the towers, so they'd never be without, season after season. For several minutes Obi-Wan merely stood at the foot of the steps, eyes closed as he inhaled the rich scents and listened to the drip...drip...drip of the irrigation lines. When he heard the first vibrations of the sonic shower overhead, he opened his eyes and ran his fingers along all the lines, feeling for leaks at the joins, then checked the reservoir, pump, timer, and return trough.

Settling into the chair at his workbench, Obi-Wan crossed his legs and surveyed their work. It is good, he smiled. And to think, only months ago he’d been nearly starving, in more ways than one.

“Qui-Gon.”

His Master appeared and sat across from him on the bottom step. He nodded as he took in the changes in the cellar, but reserved his smile for when his gaze reached his Padawan.

As chatty as Obi-Wan had been as a youth, from time to time he and his mentor had needed no words. Now was one of those times. He felt Qui-Gon’s approval, even delight, as he sensed how his intimacy with Sabé had bloomed.

But Obi-Wan had summoned him for another reason.

“You don’t need me to tell you how to make peace with yourself,” Qui-Gon replied. “The rigid tree cannot withstand the storm. It will be uprooted and die.”

“The willow bends, and survives.”

“You remember.”

Obi-Wan sat in silence, not lost in memory, but allowing that lesson to take root here, now. Qui-Gon waited until the seed had germinated before he spoke again.

“You and Sabé will tend this garden,” he began as his eyes scanned up and down the towers, “knowing that it doesn’t grow for its own sake. You’ll feed and water it so that it can bear fruit, and in turn nourish you.”

Unbidden, Obi-Wan’s eyes filled with tears. He knew.

“It was never too late for you,” said Qui-Gon before he faded away.

Sabé's feet appeared through the trap door onto the top step. Obi-Wan wiped his cheeks as she came fully into view, dressed in the clothes she'd worn earlier, though she hadn't bothered to braid her hair again. It fell into her face; she tucked it behind her ear. Her hair was a good inch longer than when she'd first come here, he realized. She'd told him she intended to grow it out again, and he pictured it cascading over her shoulders and back, his hands sliding through it as they passed peaceful years together.

"What are you smiling about?" she asked.

"Growing things," he replied, pushing to his feet.

"I was afraid the sonic shower would trip the breaker again," she said as she came to stand in the center of the room.

Obi-Wan circled her waist from behind and admired the fruits of their labor over her shoulder. "Everything appears to be in good working order." He nuzzled at her cheek. "Thanks to your faultless electrical work."

"Despite your best efforts to distract me."

His lips found the spot behind her ear that made her squirm. "Those were far from my best efforts--"

A muted high pitch sounded from near their feet. They both looked down at the dirty clothes they'd stripped off last night, the muffled chirp emitting from the pile again before they registered simultaneously what was the source.

"My comlink," they said at once.

It was Obi-Wan's, they discovered when they fished their respective communicators out of pockets.

“You could’ve knocked Owen and me over with a feather,” came Beru Lars’ voice, much to his surprise. “Of course you can bring your girlfriend over.”

Obi-Wan darted a glance at Sabé, who mouthed, Girlfriend? He shrugged, unable to inhibit his smile or the blush that warmed his cheeks. He hadn’t known how else to introduce the idea of bringing a companion to the Lars homestead, but he should’ve known that Beru would tease him about it.

“Thanks, Beru,” he replied. “We’ll bring some sandhawks.”

Hands on her hips, Sabé’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. Obi-Wan waved her away. She crossed her arms and planted her feet, chin high.

A crackle disrupted the connection for a moment as Beru said, “--sure she’s safe?”

Again the look of bewilderment. Obi-Wan smirked at her. “She’s as cool as a dead star.”

“All right, then. Glad you finally have a comlink. See you in two days.”

The comlink chirruped off as Beru ended the connection. Sabé said nothing, though Obi-Wan felt her watching him closely as he turned the communicator over in his hands, buffing out a smudge on the smooth metal before he tucked it into his pocket.

"You have questions, I expect," he said as he faced Sabé with a sheepish grin.

She didn't return it. She snorted, "A few. I'm not even sure which to ask first." After a brief pause, she blurted out, "Where are we taking sandhawks in two days?"

"It's not that we're going somewhere in two days," he went on, "it's that it'll take us two days to get there."

The look she gave him was so withering that he was mildly concerned for the plants in the towers behind him.

"And you didn't think to consult...your girlfriend?" Her cheek muscle flickered, annoyance giving way to amusement.

His flush deepened. "I wasn't sure how else to refer to you when I asked permission to bring you."

"When was that?"

"Yesterday morning at the Sorens'. So you see, things have transpired rather quickly."

"Our relationship status, or your plans with...Beru?"

Obi-Wan grinned, and this time hers broke free. With a shake of her head, Sabé said, "I think your explanations will go down better with some lunch. Or is it closer to dinner?"

Dividing up the chores, it fell to Sabé to pack supplies, water, dried meat, and other non-perishables in the saddle packs, while Obi-Wan baked flatbread and prepared dinner...but when he reached the oven and saw the tin of sugar on the shelf above it, he decided the bread could wait. Beru made sweets for Luke, but Obi-Wan had never brought him any treats.

He stilled. He’d never brought him a thing.

Thinking of the duraplast discs he’d drilled from the towers, he made a note to pack those, too. Maybe they could make a necklace together. Or paint them and glue them onto something. Arts and crafts weren't precisely his speciality, but a two-year-old couldn't be too particular. At the very least they'd make a great mess, which might be all the same to Luke.

The aroma of sweet-sand cookies filled the house as Obi-Wan prepared the dough for flatbread, then chopped vegetables for stew. They could take the leftovers in thermoses for at least one good meal tomorrow. Unfortunately, the rest of the journey would be rough going, subsisting on dried meat and fruit and flatbread that grew staler with each dry hour that passed. He never found himself terribly hungry on his trips to the Lars homestead, for the heat sapped one's appetite. Both of them had endured worse, at any rate.

And they'd be together.

Talking beside campfires. Sleeping together under the stars.

Or not sleeping.

"That doesn't smell like flatbread," came Sabé's voice from the hall.

A grunt made Obi-Wan step away from the stove to poke his head around the doorway. She'd piled their heavy bags and bedrolls and the tent near the door and stood panting, running her hand through her hair, presumably running through a mental checklist.

“All in due time,” he replied, chuckling as he returned to set the sheet of cookies on the narrow strip of counter beside the sink and slide the flatbread into the oven. The bread and stew would be finished around the same time.

When at last they sat down to dinner and Sabé had taken her first bite, hmming in approval of his culinary skills, Obi-Wan told her.

"We're going to visit Owen and Beru Lars. They have a moisture farm not far from Anchorhead."

Sabé swallowed her stew, then took a drink from her water cup. "Are they your person of interest? Or is it persons?" she amended.

"No, but you will meet him."

She looked back at him, but he went on eating. "You're not going to give me any more than that, are you?"

"I want to surprise you."

"You and your surprises." Sabé tore off a piece of flatbread and spooned a little of her stew onto it, smiling as she popped it into her mouth.

Surprises were almost all he could give her. And clearly, they pleased her. The days before he revealed this one would seem long--but only because he was so eager to see her face when she met Padmé's son. Did she suspect?

They finished their dinner, cleaned up the kitchen mess, and packed up the last of the food for their journey, setting aside a cookie each for a bedtime snack, along with a jogan fruit. Since they'd need to be up before the suns, they agreed to turn in early.

"Anyway," said Sabé, slipping beneath the sheets without pajamas, "we probably won't fall asleep right away."

"Now which of us is wanton?" Obi-Wan asked, climbing in beside her, also naked.

"I only meant because we have to eat our snack."

"Mmm, yes," he said, and covered her mouth with his. "Delicious," he mumbled between kisses.

A muffled shriek forced him to draw back. Sabé jolted upright, holding her ribs and laughing. “That thing is cold,” she said as she pointed to the jogan fruit in his hand. He must’ve accidentally pressed it into her side as they kissed.

“Oh, dear,” he apologized. “I’ve rather spoiled the mood, haven’t I?”

“I’ll recover. Let’s eat.”

They devoured the cookies, then Obi-Wan cut the fruit and gave Sabé half. When she sank her teeth into it, he watched, remembering all the times he’d stared at her while she ate, an unfamiliar longing gnawing at him. How she nourished him now.

“Where is Anchorhead?” she asked between bites. Juice ran down her fingers and around her wrist, a writhing, purple tattoo.

An idea took root. “I’ll draw you a map. Lie back.”

Although she quirked a quizzical look at him, she obeyed, balancing her fruit over her chest so as not to spill anything on the bed sheets. He dipped a finger into the pulp of his jogan fruit and drew a circle above her left hipbone.

“Our house,” he said.

She laughed. "I thought you meant in the sheets, like when I first came here."

Now he was the one who was surprised. "You remember that? Your fever was so high...you were barely cognizant."

"It's hazy. Like a dream."

"Well, if you'd prefer a bedsheet map--"

Her hand covered his, dragging his finger upward an inch or two.

"Now you're in the Xelric Draw," Obi-Wan said. "Not the right direction, but all right, I'll give you a few reference points." He ran a wiggly purple line down from there, over her ribcage, pausing halfway to make another circle. "The Starfall homestead."

Sabé quivered beneath him, laughing silently, either ticklish or simply amused.

"Continuing north…" He traced the underside of her breast, then trailed his finger over the rise, stopping at her nipple. He stared at it for a moment, dark and succulent and sweeter than any fruit he'd ever tasted, then lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Mos Espa. Have you got your bearings now?"

She nodded, lips parted.

Dipping his forefinger into the fruit again, Obi-Wan returned to her left hip.

"Heading east across the Jundland Wastes." He drew a line across her pelvis that veered slightly south, to her navel. "We'll pass by Bestine--the capital." Moving further down, he made another circle at the edge of her pubic hair. Her belly cinched inward as she caught her breath. "Maybe stop in Arnthout for water…"

If they took a little longer getting there, he could surprise her with the Motesta Oasis, too. He bypassed it for now, painting his finger in juice and dragging it toward Sabé’s outer thigh. “For reference, here’s Anchorhead. But we won’t go that far.” He traced back to her inner thigh and drew another circle. “The Lars homestead. Two days of travel to get there. I usually stay a week or so.”

“You didn’t last time.”

“I was...anxious to return home,” he said with a smile. “For some reason.”

He’d unconsciously dotted the Larses’ outbuildings on Sabé’s skin so that the entire homestead was represented in violet, and she squirmed under his touch, her pelvis tilting toward him. She still clutched her jogan fruit, and her fingers curled into the soft flesh, releasing more juice onto her skin. The Northern Dune Sea, thought Obi-Wan, but with rivers running through it.

“Where will we sleep along the way?” she managed.

Setting the remainder of his fruit on the bedside table, Obi-Wan trailed his fingers toward the heat between her legs. “I know a perfect spot.”

Amethyst rivulets snaked across her chest as he tended to her need with stained fingertips. She propped up on elbows, her portion of the fruit balanced in one palm like a sovereign's orb, and watched him with half-lidded eyes, her crooked smile shining through a flushed face, mouth opening to gasps and moans as he found the motion she preferred.

But just as he thought she would find her release, Sabé rose, pulling Obi-Wan with her into a seated position. She took another bite of the jogan fruit, then offered it to him. Keeping his eyes on her, he sank his teeth into it, and the juices ran into his beard. After he’d swallowed, she captured his mouth with hers, the lingering sweetness mingling across their tongues. He groaned.

“I still need more points of reference,” she breathed against him and withdrew to dip into what remained of her half of the fruit.

Her nail beds and fingertips darkened like the Rishi eel ink some thieves used to disguise their fingerprints, and she drew a circle in the center of his breastbone, just beneath the notch of his collarbones, adding two dots near it.

“Tatooine,” she explained, “and its suns.”

She trailed her knuckles across his chest until she found his right ribs, where she drew another circle. “Toydaria. Home planet to our problematic acquaintance Watto.”

“If I were a planet, I don’t think I’d claim him,” said Obi-Wan.

Sabé graced him with a chuckle and an impish glance before drawing a circle on his lower right belly. “Alderaan.” Obi-Wan’s heart leapt, but of course Sabé didn’t know Leia was there. Not yet, anyhow. Thinking of how he would tell her, he smiled, and she returned it, adding, “The illustrious home of our benefactor, Senator Organa.”

Skimming her fingers back, near to where she'd marked Tatooine, she drew another planet and said, “Geonosis.” Frowning, she must've been thinking of when her Queen began to slip away from her. As Anakin had from him.

Holding her breath, she slid her fingers downward to his right hip, where she paused as though she didn’t want to continue. After a bracing inhalation, she dipped her thumb into the fruit and pressed a mark there, like a convict recording her official identification. “Dathomir.”

Where she was imprisoned. Obi-Wan laid his hand over hers, until it uncurled and she raised her gaze to his. Maintaining eye contact, she traced around to his back, over his left kidney, where she pressed gently.

“Mustafar,” she whispered.

A wince made his eyes shut for a fraction of a second. But when he opened them, she still looked at him, without judgment or pity. He looked back until he felt stable once more.

She dipped her fingers again. Just above his pubic hair she drew another planet and rested her palm protectively over it. “Coruscant.”

A breath shuddered out. It was the closest thing to a home planet Obi-Wan had ever known.

Until this one.

He’d thought Sabé was finished, but she trailed her fingers up his abdomen toward his left pectoral, just above his heart, where she drew a circle surrounded by three dots. “Naboo and its moons.”

Looking down at the galactic map she’d anointed him with, Obi-Wan understood that their place in the universe wasn’t as small as he’d thought. They’d both enjoyed successes and endured failures, on more worlds than he could count. The things they’d done mattered. They mattered.

And it was a long life. Even in hiding, they might yet find purpose.

He wrapped his hand around hers, drawing it from his heart up to his lips, and kissed her purple fingers one by one.

"An entire galaxy," he murmured in awe, "and the Force led you here."

Sabé nudged him to lie back on the bed, the juice smearing across their bodies like the spiral arms of the galaxy, the features of Tatooine obscured in a sandstorm. She pulled him inside her.

"Right here."


	22. Chapter 22

When Nagpal crested what Obi-Wan declared to be the final dune **,** the silhouettes of vaporators  rose against the golden glow of the late afternoon sky like the spires of palaces or temples.  A most welcome sight, he declared, though Sabé found herself unable to fully agree. True, her canteen was all but empty, the last swallow of water echoing with faint hum as it sloshed around the metal container, and her hair and clothes were plastered to sweaty skin, so much that she held only lightly to Obi-Wan's waist as they rode, trying not to lean against his back any more than she had to. The two days' ride across the desert had been hot and exhausting…

The two nights, however… Her dry lips curved in a smile behind her scarf, and she pressed herself against him again, heat be damned. She hated to be cliché, but there was no other word for the nights but _magical._ Camping in the desert, snuggled together beside fires, making love beneath stars that looked so close that it was hard to believe they were exiled across a galaxy from home… She found herself loath to be a houseguest. At least there was the return journey to look forward to.

"I don't suppose the Larses will have after dinner torve weed?" she asked. That might change her mind about their impending stay with Obi-Wan's _person of interest_.

His chuckle rumbled through her. "Alas, they're a different breed than Sim and Mari."

Squeezing his waist, Sabé rose up a bit in the saddle and pressed her lips to his dusty cheek. "I'm sure I'll like them just as well."

As they drew closer, what she’d thought was a mound rising from the flat landscape turned out to be a small, domed building--even smaller than Obi-Wan’s, perhaps.

“They live there?”

He turned his profile toward her, eyes crinkling in a grin above his scarf. “It’s bigger than it looks.”

Sabé felt her eyebrows rise, but she remained silent. There was barely enough room for the two of them to rub elbows at home. How did the Larses negotiate such a tight squeeze with a third person?

A blonde woman emerged from one of the two doors that jutted from the sides of the pale synstone and waved a greeting. She wore the same loose desert garb as Mari, though her hair was pulled into tight figure-eight buns on both sides. Her broad smile was a welcome sight, and Sabé’s grin spread under the scarf that still covered her nose and mouth.

“That’s Beru,” said Obi-Wan as he raised his hand in response, then tugged Nagpal’s reins to slow him to a stop.

He quickly dismounted and held both hands up. Sabé, bracing herself on his shoulders, slid from the saddle into his waiting arms. Now that she faced him, she could see a glint of excitement in his eyes, cheek muscles twitching as though he wanted to smile. He tugged down his scarf and turned to make introductions.

When Beru offered a warm, strong hand along with her words of welcome, Sabé felt immediately at home. The woman was shorter than her, about Mari’s height, and perhaps stockier, though that was hard to determine because of the layers of skirt, belted tunic, and too-long jacket. Her blue eyes danced in approval between Obi-Wan and Sabé, though he couldn’t have revealed much, if anything, about her yet. Was it that obvious that they were in love? Or maybe it was simply that Beru recognized two birds of a feather. Barvy Ben and Spacer Sabé. She pressed her lips together against a bark of laughter.

“Owen’s out with the eastern vaporators,” said Beru as she took Nagpal’s reins and led him to a post, giving Sabé an apologetic half-grin. “ _Someone else_ is feeling shy about our new visitor.”

“I wondered why he wasn’t here to greet me,” said Obi-Wan as he tethered the eopie and unbuckled the saddlebags.

Sabé’s brows drew together in confusion. Obi-Wan hadn’t given her a single clue about who she would meet today. Was it another recluse, like him? Dare she hope it was a Jedi? Although her heart lurched in the scant hope that more like him might yet exist in the galaxy, it wrenched to think of the loss and grief each remaining Jedi must bear.

No wonder he hadn’t wanted to share this piece of information with her at first. The stakes were too high.

Sabé handed over a brace of sandhawks she’d shot along the way to a grateful Beru, then followed her into the building; but before she could fully appreciate the warm colors and freshly swept floor, their hostess disappeared through a trap door to a set of stairs that led underground.

Dim lamps dotted the dirt walls at intervals, which provided enough light for sure footing but not for much else. The only sounds were their footfalls and the rustle and thump of the saddlebags on Obi-Wan’s hip. At first Sabé though she’d emerge in a cellar, but the stairway descended too far for that. Were they headed to a bunker?

How important _was_ this person of interest?

As they made a sharp right in the corridor, faint bootsteps at the top of the stairs made Sabé’s hackles rise and her fingers twitch over the blaster at her hip, until Beru called back, “Oh, you’re here, Owen. Ben and Sabé just arrived.”

There was a grunt that might have been an acknowledgement.

Suddenly they emerged once more into bright sunlight.

Shading her eyes, Sabé squinted into an underground courtyard, open to the sky, with rooms appended to the circular space like petals on a flower. Though some had ceiling skylights installed above ground level, others were dim within, and it was impossible to tell how far back the underground living spaces extended beyond their dark recesses. As Beru excused herself to store the fowl in what Sabé presumed was the kitchen, she had the impression the place was sprawling. Like the Starfalls, the Larses grew decorative plants around the perimeter to break up the monochromatic beige and white with green foliage and the shock of purple, red, and yellow buds. More vaporators stood in the courtyard’s center as though placed there by a sculptor--utilitarian items, but beautiful in their own way.

In one of the rooms a blur of white caught her eye, but by the time she’d turned to look, it had vanished.

Behind her, Owen Lars appeared in the doorway to the stairwell, and Beru emerged from the kitchen to introduce him. Sabé offered her hand and he shook it, once, and then released it again, his sharp eyes scrutinizing her from head to toe, though he didn’t seem perturbed by her rifles. Owen’s clothing was similar to Obi-Wan’s--similar to Jedi robes, as was common fashion on the Outer Rim planets--though he was burly where Obi-Wan was lean, his ruddy face bearing a day or two of stubble, his dark hair cropped short.

He stalked past her toward the room where she’d seen the blur a moment ago and called, “Come on out. We’ve got company.”

When no one appeared, Sabé looked at Obi-Wan, who’d lowered the saddlebags to his feet. He shrugged, unable to contain his grin. For some reason, Beru knelt on the ground, an arm extended toward the same room Owen had disappeared into.

“I thought you were excited to meet Ben’s friend,” she coaxed.

Sabé followed her gaze. Owen appeared again, stepping into the light with a child on his hip.

The boy couldn’t have been more than two or so, his white jacket in disarray with a smear of food or dirt across the hem, his shaggy blonde hair shining like a crown. His face was buried in Owen’s shoulder, plump legs kicking back and forth in nervousness until Owen placed a gentle hand over a calf to still them.

Was _this_ who Obi-Wan was protecting? The boy was too young to have been a Jedi Youngling. Perhaps a Force-sensitive child who'd been intended for the Temple créche? Sabé looked to Obi-Wan, but his attention was on the boy.

"Hello there," he said. "Nagpal sends his regards. He was sad you weren't there to greet him, but you can take him a handful of oats later."

The little face turned on Owen's shoulder, enough to reveal one brilliantly blue eye. "Na-pah?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "This is my friend I told you about. The one who named him."

He reached into his pocket and drew out a small quadruped of indistinct species carved from stone--or possibly bone--that he'd bought from a tinker they'd met south of Bestine. Sabé had assumed it was just to be kind to the man who looked to be in desperate straits. Now she understood who it was really intended for.

"If you ask her very nicely, she might tell you what this fellow's name is. And maybe even what kind of animal it is."

He walked it up the little boy's arm, and he sat up, giggling and grabbed for it with dimpled fingers.

"What do you say to Ben?" prompted Beru.

"Tonkoo."

"You are most welcome," Obi-Wan replied, chuckling.

"Name?" Brandishing the animal, the little boy twisted in Owen's arms toward Sabé, whose heart inexplicably leapt into her throat, only to immediately duck against the shoulder once more.

"Your scarf, maybe." Owen gestured to the lower portion of his face.

"Oh! Yes, of course." Sabé unwound her scarf. Owen stilled, presumably to calm the squirming child on his hip.

Obi-Wan stepped back to give Sabé room. "Luke, can you say hello to Sabé?"

_Luke._

She whipped her head to him and saw his eyes glistening, then back to the boy, who'd sat up again.

"Hi," Luke said, and waved the hand not holding the toy.

"Hi," Sabé echoed, utterly incapable of uttering another syllable.

He was the picture of the slave boy Padmé befriended on Tatooine all those years ago. _Her children are safe and happy_ , Obi-Wan had told her. How hadn't she guessed that his person of interest was Padmé's son?

A laugh welled up in her, only to let loose a floodgate of tears.

Obi-Wan's arms went around her, and she wept into his neck, felt his tears in her hair as he bent to kiss it.

After a moment, she heard Luke's little voice ask, "Sad?"

"No, I'm not sad." She sniffled and wiped her face on her sleeve, realizing too late that it was caked in dust and sand. "I'm so very happy to see you."

She staggered from Obi-Wan's embrace toward the child. Owen backed away from her, angling his body slightly in front of Luke's.

"What's the meaning of this, Kenobi? This your idea of a joke?"

"I don't know what you--"

"Owen…" Beru tried to intervene, but her voice shook. Luke whimpered, and Beru reached to take him from her husband's arms.

Only then did Sabé notice how the Larses had paled.

Owen faced Obi-Wan with hands on his hips, which made him appear to loom although they were nearly the same height. "You asked if we minded you bringing your girlfriend. Were we supposed to know you really meant…?" His eyes darted sidelong at her, then back, the angry red draining from his face again. As if he'd seen a ghost. He hissed through his teeth, "You led us to believe she was dead!"

"Oh my stars," Obi-Wan said. "You think she's--"

_Padmé_.

"I'm not Luke's--" Sabé stopped, overcome by emotion and the way Luke was regarding her with curiosity as he clutched Beru's jacket.

Owen didn't look like he believed this, but relief washed over his wife's face as she breathed, "It's just...you look exactly like her..."

"A relative?" Owen asked.

“No,” Sabé replied, rather more forcefully than she’d intended--but she had to reassure them, and quickly. She’d been so distracted by the revelation of Luke that the meaning of his guardians’ expressions hadn’t sunk in. “But I knew her. Did you?”

“Not well,” Beru said, still shaky but the color creeping back into her cheeks. “Only by her first name.”

“She was...a public figure,” Sabé explained. “Had decoys, bodyguards. We all looked like her.”

"I'm so sorry I didn't think to warn you," said Obi-Wan. "The resemblance didn’t occur to me."

Owen grunted.

"It was an honest mistake," Beru said, and attempted a wobbly smile. "No harm done."

"Except for an awkward introduction," Owen added.

Sabé wanted to retort that he hadn't made the best first impression himself, but bit her tongue and slipped her hand into Obi-Wan's, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He was mortified.

"Why don't you two get cleaned up," Beru offered, making up for her husband, "and we'll make a fresh start."

~*~

After they'd showered and changed, they found Beru in the kitchen, preparing the sandhawks for their dinner. She declined Sabé's offer to help. "You're here to see Luke, not do my chores," she said, not unkindly, though Sabé sensed their hostess needed space yet to compose herself from the shock of her appearance.

Obi-Wan had apologized profusely while they dressed in the room off the garage that served as a guest space. "You and Padmé are so distinct in my mind...I forget there was a time I didn't know the difference. I'm so sorry you were put in that position--"

She'd pressed her still-shaking finger to his lips, glad for a few minutes to recover, away from the Larses. "As Beru said, no harm done." But then she’d pressed her forehead to Obi-Wan’s and whispered, “ _Thank you_.”

Back in the kitchen with Beru, they found that Owen seemed to have disappeared to some other part of the sprawling underground dwelling, or back to the vaporator fields. If she was honest, Sabé was a bit relieved for breathing room herself.

Not that Luke would allow any. As soon as they emerged from the kitchen into the courtyard, he raced toward them, waving the carving in one hand. Obi-Wan squatted to receive the full brunt of the child’s leap into his arms, and his chuckle turned into a belly laugh as Luke mimicked his earlier action by walking the animal up Obi-Wan’s arm, adding weird mooing noises as he did so. Sabé crouched nearby, feeling her own smile stretch her cheeks. Now that she could watch him up close, she began to see more of Padmé in him. Something in the curve of his ears and the way he held his shoulders back. His image blurred until she blinked the tears away, even as her face began to hurt from grinning so widely.

His belt had come untied again, and when the boy toddled toward her she cinched it tight and added another knot. While she worked, Luke turned the carving over in his hands. “Name?” he asked.

So she was the namer of animals. “What do you think this creature is?” She lowered herself onto a set of steps that led up into one of the cave-like rooms.

“O-pie.”

She nodded sagely. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy!” He laughed, as if she’d just asked something absurd.

“Akshay,” she said. “It means _immortal_.” When he looked up at her in confusion, she added, “Indestructible. He’ll live forever. Akshay.”

“Ak-say!” he repeated, and he ran away to tell Beru in the kitchen.

"Good name," Obi-Wan said, sitting down beside her. He leaned back with one elbow on the step above and slid the other behind her to cushion her back against the sharp edge of the step.

"Where's Leia?" Sabé asked in a low tone, though there was no way it would be heard from the kitchen across the courtyard, even without a toddler's chatter echoing through it.

"How did you--?"

"There was a lot Padmé kept secret about her pregnancy. But she told us she was going to call the baby Luke if it was a boy, and if it was a girl…"

A lump rose in her throat, and the doorway refracted into a kaleidoscope. The small pale shape that was Luke emerged from it, so Obi-Wan could only squeeze her hand in response.

Luke dropped an animal in Sabé's lap--a new one this time, made of duraplast, which was clearly a bantha. "Name?"

"Let's see...What about Barinda the Bantha?"

Baring his teeth in a bright grin, Luke snatched it and ran off, hollering, "Binda Bamfa!"

"That means _ocean_ ," Sabé said, laughing, "but I suspect that's rather too much information for a two-year-old."

Obi-Wan's eyes shone with a strange light as he watched her, head cocked as though he were figuring something out, or trying to. Although the intensity of it made her heart flutter behind her ribs, she returned to their conversation.

“So where is Leia?”

The light faded into something sweeter, and almost sad. “With Bail and Breha Organa, on Alderaan.”

For a moment Sabé couldn’t breathe. Her heart shuddered, a huff of laughter burst free, and she felt fresh tears on her face. “Leia will be a queen!”

Obi-Wan nodded. Sabé fell, shaking, into his arms. “She looks like Padmé,” he whispered into her ear, and she sobbed.

More thumping across the hard-packed dirt told her that Luke was on his way back, so she pulled away from Obi-Wan and hastily wiped her face. This poor kid would think her an utter wreck if she didn’t get herself together. She plastered on another smile.

“Jerba! Jerba!” he commanded with a toothy grin.

It was indeed a jerba. “Ohh, look at those horns!” gushed Sabé, pretending to recoil.

Luke thrust it at her and growled, giggling when she shrieked in mock fear.

“A fearsome beast needs a fearsome name. Jwala!” she shouted in a guttural voice, fingers extended like claws.

“Jawa Jerba!” Luke hollered as he stomped away.

“No, not--oh, never mind.” She looked at Obi-Wan. “It means _flame_.”

This game continued for a few more rounds, until Luke came back with two of the cookies Obi-Wan had brought and placed in the cookie jar along with Beru’s ever-present stash.

"Oh, a little snack," Sabé said through her first bite. "Thank you."

Obi-Wan regarded his cookie with suspicion. "I thought you couldn't reach these?"

"I weach!" Luke poked out his tummy and laughed.

" _Hmm_ ," was all Obi-Wan said in response, brows pulling together briefly, only for his face to break out in a grin as he stretched out his hand to tickle the protruding belly.

Luke squealed and tried to squirm out of the way, but Obi-Wan caught his belt and pulled the boy into his lap.

"Name!" he called out.

Sabé spread her hands, palms up. "You didn't bring me another animal."   
  


He pointed to Obi-Wan. "Name!"

“You know that, silly. It’s Ben.”

“No.” A shake of his shaggy head. “Name.” He poked Obi-Wan’s chest repeatedly. “Name!”

“Ummm…” Sabé’s laughter blended with Obi-Wan’s, but when their eyes met she saw the same wary feeling behind them.

“Just name me,” he prodded her. “I’ve always wanted a better nickname.”

“All right...Kesava.”

“Sava Ben!” Luke leapt from Obi-Wan’s lap and ran a lap around the courtyard, cookie crumbs dropping from his tunic until he veered off toward the kitchen. “Sava Ben!”

Obi-Wan looked at Sabé, waiting.

“It means _hairy_.”

His look of affronted indignation dissolved into a chuckle as he admitted, “I suppose I deserve that.”

She reached up and stroked his beard, which was an even paler shade of gold after their prolonged time in the sun, nearly as white-blond as Luke's hair. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

            ~*~

As the visit went on, Sabé came to share Obi-Wan's view that the Larses were a different breed than the Starfalls. She tried not to compare them, but she felt no more at ease around them--Owen in particular--which made it difficult not to think longingly of Sim and Mari's openness and how freely they'd given their friendship. Of course she understood why they were guarded, though Obi-Wan had said Owen and Beru knew only the bare minimum of Luke's history.

Then again, why should they be leery of Obi-Wan? He was the one who'd brought them the child, and he'd visited almost every month for more than two years. Shouldn't there be more trust?

Perhaps the problem was her. What if she hadn't come as far in her recovery as she'd thought?

After lunch on the second day, Beru said, "I've been thinking it's time Luke had his first haircut. Ben tells me you know how?"

Sabé shot a questioning look at Obi-Wan, who grinned back at her as he cleared the table. "Beru noticed I look a little more civilized than the last time I was here, and I told her it was your handiwork."

She thought she saw Beru's cheek redden before she turned to wipe mashed potatoes from Luke's face. He squirmed and dodged her, banging his spoon on his high chair tray. “Ben says you’ve only been here a couple of months?”

Sabé _hmm_ ed. Not even three months ago she was near death, and now--

"I don’t mean to impose," Beru went on. "If you'd rather not give Luke a trim, I'm sure I can manage. Or Owen can give him a buzz." She feathered the boy’s hair, at first to get a clump of potatoes out, then she kept stroking it. "That'd be a shame...I love his hair."

It curled a little at the back of his neck. Sabé blinked away an image of Padmé letting it loop around her elegant fingers.

"It's no trouble," she said.

She and Obi-Wan settled on the steps outside the kitchen with a pair of scissors Beru used for trimming her own hair. They watched Luke run around the courtyard, a small duraplast starship held aloft as he made _pew-pew-pew_ noises. Once a real starship flew overhead--a freighter, judging by the size and speed--and Luke stood stock still, staring at the exhaust trails long after the ship itself had disappeared from view.

Beru brought the high chair out (“For when he’s ready to sit still again”), cleaned of the lunch remnants.

"No sit!" Luke hollered as he ran in circles around the vaporators.

"You mind your Aunt Beru," Owen admonished on his way through to the garage.

"I've seen you sit very still, Luke," Obi-Wan said. "Remember how we meditated together?"

Luke stopped and stared at Obi-Wan, head cocked as though he was, indeed, trying to remember. Owen stopped, too, and gave Obi-Wan a very different sort of look. He stalked past them toward the stairs leading to ground level, and Sabé couldn’t help but notice the way Obi-Wan’s gaze followed him until he was gone, then the purse of his lips before he turned his smile on Luke.

“Med-tay!” pronounced Luke as he plopped down onto Obi-Wan’s lap. He closed his eyes, but his giggles were anything but serene.

Obi-Wan took Luke’s hands and placed them over the knees of his scuffed little trousers. “Want to try to trim the front?” he asked Sabé.

“Wish me luck,” she breathed, returning his smile.

She talked to Luke the whole time, explaining what she was about to do before she did it, and he remained reasonably cooperative for the first portion. Perhaps Obi-Wan’s stillness had a calming effect on the child. It didn’t seem that he was using the Force, for he watched Sabé with an attentiveness that made her cheeks warm as she trimmed the pale fringe and shaped around the boy’s ears.

They had to allow Luke to run around again for awhile before he would submit to the high chair and the trimming of the back of his hair. This proved unbearably ticklish for the boy, and he hunched his shoulders and squirmed until Obi-Wan found three smooth rocks and juggled them. The distraction allowed Sabé enough time to quickly snip away at the back until it was neatened up, but still long.

While she worked, Beru appeared beside her to dry her hands and remove her apron. "I didn't expect it would make him look so grown up."

Sabé glanced up to see her wiping away a tear. "The length's all right? I didn't want to take too much off."

Beru nodded. "Luke, you look like a little man!"

"I big!" he protested, flinging his arms up and straining his legs toward the ground below the high chair.

His aunt laughed. "Too big for his britches, at any rate. Hold still, Luke, or your haircut will be crooked."

With a final snip, Sabé announced, "All done!"

"All done!" Luke grasped his high chair tray and began to shake it as he kicked his dangling legs. "Down!"

"Can you ask more politely?" Beru prompted.

"Down pease!"

She released him from the high chair, dusted the clippings off his shoulders as much as he'd allow, then planted a kiss on top of his trimmed hair before she set him loose. She stood silently for a moment, watching Luke chase after an insect. When Obi-Wan rose from the step to follow him, Beru asked, "Would she approve?"

Sabé had had been sweeping out the seat with Beru's towel, but now froze as the other woman faced her.

"Padmé?"

"I think about her all the time. Wonder what she'd make of the life he's got here." Beru folded her arms across herself, shoulders hunching slightly as she turned to watch Luke again. Not her son. Her nephew, but not even by blood. "I could tell she was someone important when Ani brought her here. She wore the most beautiful clothes I've ever seen. And her hairstyles...We can't give him the sort of life she was probably accustomed to."

Not the life his twin was accustomed to, either, as the little Princess of Alderaan.

"That wouldn't matter to her," Sabé said. "All she'd want for Luke is to be loved and happy." _And safe._

His laugh bubbled through the courtyard as the insect took flight and Obi-Wan darted out a hand to catch it. Sabé could barely hear the quiet exchange from where she stood.

“See?”

“Gentle.”

Obi-Wan crouched and opened his hand to allow the insect to crawl into Luke’s, his grin spreading with the boy’s, like twin sunrises. The insect flew away, and their faces turned to follow it.

When Sabé faced Beru, she realized that she, too, needed to wipe away a tear. “And he is,” she added. “I can see that. She’d be very glad.”

The woman’s throat worked, until she was able to whisper, “Thank you.”

Sabé handed Beru her towel and followed her back inside.

~*~

Obi-Wan was still in the ‘fresher when Sabé crawled into the small bed. Being so close to the garage, the guest bedroom held the faint, mingled smells of fuel, paint, and metal, but somehow it wasn’t unpleasant. It was as though she waited here, too, in storage, like the vehicles Owen tinkered with after dinner.

Tonight he’d drilled holes in the duraplast disks Obi-Wan had brought from their garden towers, threading each through a length of string to make a necklace for Luke, who seemed happier to twirl it like a lasso. Sabé was happy Luke had access to so many tools, as well as to his uncle’s obvious expertise; the boy would learn a lot. Each evening Owen showed Luke what this tool or that one did, gently removing them from his reach “until you’re older,” while Luke hopped up and down, fingers grasping like pincers in desperation to just touch _something_.

A smile curled her lips. She probably would’ve let him touch everything, but every parent was different, she supposed. And Owen wasn’t wrong to be so protective. For all she knew, he’d seen fingers lost to power tools. Her own father had told her, every time she plopped down in his workshop, “It’s the professional, not the amateur, who loses a thumb because she’s in a rush.”

With that memory Sabé knew what the scents Owen’s garage reminded her of, and why she felt so at home in them.

Her throat tightened, but she allowed herself to think of her parents, breathing through the grief and blinking away the tears. They were fine. _She_ was fine, and they knew it. It was the best she could’ve ever hoped for.

But did parents ever stop worrying for their children? She remembered the Starfalls’ faces--relief mingled with fear and dread--when they’d found out she and Obi-Wan had snatched Wulfric from the grip of those Troopers. It was as if their son had somehow beaten death and come back to them, if only for a moment. Sabé’s mother always told her the price of love was pain. She’d never quite understood that, but perhaps now she was beginning to.

She brushed her fingers over the fleshy part of her shoulder, where a coin-sized circle of skin radiated warmth--the warning signal that her contraceptive implant would expire in a few weeks. She'd noticed it when she changed into her nightshirt, but that wasn't what had triggered these musings on what sort of guardians her parents had been, Owen Lars was, she might be be. The thoughts had grown for some time now, the seed planted, perhaps, when she'd first seen Obi-Wan interact with Dojj in Mos Espa, taking root and germinating without her being aware of it as they spent time with the Starfall kids. Now, here, with Luke, it had broken above the surface and blossomed.

_Everything in its season_ , Obi-Wan had told the Ho'Din herbalist.

There was no doubt in Sabé's mind that she was looking forward to that season like spring after a bleak winter....or harvest following summer labor.

Just because she wanted a thing didn't mean she should have it. Or could. They had much to consider before they took that step.

The 'fresher door slid open, and Obi-Wan emerged naked.

"Apparently I missed the memo about tonight's dress code," Sabé said.

Chuckling, Obi-Wan drew back the covers and slipped into bed beside her, reaching for the hem of her nightshirt. He started to tug it upward, but stopped midway up her thighs. "Or am I under dressed?"

The request, and the desire in his eyes, stirred her own.

In lieu of answer, she sat up to pull the nightshirt all the way off. His hands, his lips, were on her before she'd dropped it to the floor, and hers on him once she'd wriggled out of her underwear.

" _Obi-Wanton_ is right," she managed between kisses.

"You didn't take much persuasion."

Her fingers tangled in his hair. "Two days without is too much."

" _Far_ too much."

Sabé giggled. "After a lifetime without."

"Making up for lost time."

His mouth covered hers before she could make a comment about the strangeness of making love in someone else’s house--he’d obviously considered it the first two nights, too--but the time for polite restraint was past. The door was shut, the family far enough away that no one could hear their cries, and she needed him.

Climbing into his lap, she settled against him and delighted in his muffled groan as he continued to kiss her. His hands traveled from her hair down her back to grip her hips, pulling her into him, eliciting vocalizations from her with each tiny movement. And he wasn’t even inside yet.

Sabé wanted to prolong it, as he did for her under the stars two nights ago. She kissed her way to the edge of his lips, raked her fingers through his beard and across his freckled shoulders, grazed his neck with her teeth, and continued downward. Every mole, every scar received her attention--sometimes a soft kiss, sometimes the rasp of her tongue, or the nip of her teeth. Goosebumps rose on his flesh, and his abdomen trembled and cinched inward with his ragged breaths.

When she reached his hips, she pressed a finger to his shoulder and tipped him backward. A glance revealed him watching her, one sinewy arm tucked behind his head on the pillow, as she took him in her mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed, brows drawn together, perhaps in concentration, for she could feel how much he liked this.

For a man who'd forsaken attachment all his life, he'd proved uninhibited and unrestrained about sex. And on her side, exploring his body in so intimate a way way came more naturally than she could have imagined. The tautness of him beneath such velvety skin, the tickle of coarse hair, aroused her nearly as much as his touch. She tasted his salt, breathed in his smell, the tang of soap and something uniquely masculine, as if she could fill herself up entirely with him. He was so beautiful like this, chest heaving and mouth open, no longer a starving man. Except to be ravenous for her.

She continued her attentions until he grunted out her name and the hand not tucked beneath his head fumbled for her, trailed through her hair, traced the curve of her ear. Her lips curved in a smile around him, and she withdrew to straddle him. They were the same in this way, delighting in the giving and receiving of pleasure, but wanting to find completion together. Obi-Wan held her with his gaze as she guided him in, then he hooked his hands under her and rolled them so she lay on her back. Soon the press of his hips to hers made her cry out in ecstasy, and he followed, lips seeking the curve of her throat as her pulse pounded with the reverberations her climax.

Her heart was only beginning to return to a normal rhythm afterward when Obi-Wan said, "I loved watching you today. When you were cutting Luke's hair."

His voice was so soft, so reverent, that she blushed anew and nuzzled closer to his shoulder. He kissed her temple, buried his fingers in her hair to cradle the back of her head. She’d loved watching him with Luke, too, and was about to tell him that he seemed to bloom in the child’s presence--but her throat tightened before she could speak. Obi-Wan seemed to sense her emotion and drew her closer, his arm contouring her back like a cloak, or a second skin.

It was easy to be silent with him, especially now that they’d learned to talk to each other, now that their feelings were aligned. They lay in the silence together, each thinking their own thoughts, yet feeling the other somehow nodding along in agreement.

At length, Sabé said, "It can't be easy to raise children here. Or anywhere, but Tatooine has a unique set of challenges." _Dangers._

Obi-Wan's _mmm_ of agreement rumbled through her, a breath against her forehead. "And yet…" He shifted away just enough that they could peer at each other from the pillows. His eyes were so bright, a spark that made hope burn within her. "People choose to do it. Sim and Mari did, four times over."

"What must that be like, being pregnant, giving birth out here?" Had Mari faced complications? Had she been afraid? It was difficult to imagine Mari as anything but fearless, facing it all head on, but she was human. "There are no birthing facilities…no medics nearby unless you live in town..."

"Even when there are, there are no guarantees," Obi-Wan said, barely a whisper, and the light dimmed in the eyes that witnessed medical technology fail Padmé.

Sabé didn't want to think about that.

"Owen and Beru," she said to redirect the conversation. "They're young. Do you think they want children of their own?"

"I gather they've...had some difficulty." A flicker of a smile. “Luke has been a blessing to them.”

"What about you?” she asked without thinking of how the question might sound. Obi-Wan’s eyes rounded, and she quickly added, “I mean, why didn’t _you_ take Luke?”

His gaze drifted away, to another time, a decision long past revoking. “Yoda and I felt that it was best Luke stay with family. Anakin would never return here. It was bad enough we didn’t send the twins to the Naberries.”

Padmé’s parents. Sabé had wondered why the Organas and not them. But of course that would’ve been too risky. The Emperor would undoubtedly have Jobal and Ruwee under close surveillance. Pangs of grief needled her; they would never know their grandchildren--or even that they had any.

“And it seemed safer to separate the twins,” he went on, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Owen and Beru don’t know about Leia.”

“Makes sense,” she agreed. But she felt the weight of sadness behind the shadows in his eyes.

“I had hoped…” He stopped, rubbing a thumb over her hipbone. “Well. Things might yet change.”

“You mean Owen.”

He nodded. “I get the feeling he’s not too keen on Luke learning about the Force.”

"And Leia?" Sabé pushed up on her elbow. "Will you teach her?"

If Luke was safely hidden from Vader...if Owen didn't want Obi-Wan around, was there any reason for him to stay? He could be an exile anywhere, if it came to that.

But that was selfish.

His brow furrowed as he considered her question. "In either case, we shall have to see how the Force manifests in the children. With a father as powerful as Anakin…"

"It's...genetic?"

Obi-Wan gave a huff that might have been a chuckle and propped himself on his elbow, too, fingers combing into his untidy hair. The other hand never left Sabé's hip. "Not many of us passed on our genes to find out."

Her cheeks warmed again. “But surely you’ve seen siblings who both had the ability?”

“Good point, and yes, I did. Although I don’t know if the mother or father necessarily had it.” Before she could ask if he had any knowledge of _his_ family, he cursed and sat up, running a hand down his face and over his beard. “There’s so much I don’t know. And now--”

“It’s not too late.” Sabé sat up and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his still-sweaty back. “Write down all you can remember. And maybe Bail can help us find any records--”

“If they still exist.”

She didn’t try to reassure him. The Emperor was doing his damnedest to destroy all evidence of the Jedi, and doing a karking good job of it, from all she’d heard. She hugged Obi-Wan tighter.

Finally he pressed a hand against hers and twisted around to look at her, blue eyes impossibly bright in the dimness. _Too many orphans_...but it wasn’t Luke and Leia she imagined. She pressed her lips to his, raked her fingers through his hair as if to say, _I’m here. You’re not alone._

Nor was she.

They lay back together and, after a time, fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

~*~

The moment they entered the kitchen for breakfast, Sabé knew the night had not passed as peacefully for their hosts as it had for them.

Owen, at the table, gave only the barest glance of acknowledgment before hunching over his bowl. He missed the frown Beru shot him. Although she greeted them good morning, her voice was taut, her smile wan around the edges, and she didn't look either of them in the eyes. She was even a little short with Luke, who sat in his high chair putting oatmeal everywhere but in his mouth. _He_ seemed cheerful enough, dangling legs dancing as he finger painted with the oatmeal on his tray. Maybe he'd simply kept his aunt and uncle awake. Beru did have dark circles beneath her eyes.

Luke had been chewing on the disk necklace Owen strung for him. It fell from his mouth when he grinned at the newcomers.

"Hi, Ben!" he shouted. "Hi, Bé!"

"Hello there," Obi-Wan said as he drew out a chair for Sabé at the table, where a tureen of oatmeal and platter of sausages awaited. "Bright-eyed and bushy tailed, I see. Big plans for the day, Luke?"

Owen stopped eating to eye Obi-Wan from beneath heavy brows as he took his own seat. "Thought I'd take him with me over to Tosche Station. Need some power converters and such."

Sabé had just ladled a portion of oatmeal into her bowl, but let it hover over the tureen before belatedly replacing it. Was he hinting it was time for _them_ to go?

If Obi-Wan wondered the same thing, he gave no indication of it except a brief pause before he said, “I’m not sure taking Luke into Anchorhead right now is such a good idea.”

Owen’s eyes narrowed and he inhaled as if to speak sharply, but Beru cut in, including both Obi-Wan and Sabé in her question. “Oh? Did you hear something?”

“How would they hear news way out in the Wasteland?” snapped Owen.

Beru glared at him but made no reply as she scooted her chair to the table and tucked into her sausage.

_Itching for a fight_. Sabé had seen men like this, though despite his gruffness she wouldn’t have pegged Owen as one of them. She glanced at Obi-Wan, but his face remained neutral.

“Sabé and I saw Troopers in Mos Espa on our last trip. They were recruiting for the Empire.”

The silence became heavy as Owen stared, blue eyes hardening to ice. Beru put her fork down and looked to Sabé for confirmation. Her quick nod brought the brunt of Owen’s glare down on her, which she returned, chin high. It wasn’t their fault they’d found an Imperial presence on Tatooine.

Or was it? As far as Owen was concerned, perhaps the mere existence of a Jedi had somehow lured the Empire here.

“And just when,” he muttered, turning back to Obi-Wan, “were you planning to tell me this?”

“I only mentioned it because it might not be the best time to take Luke--”

“I heard what you said, and _thank you_ for the parenting advice.”

Owen’s stare met Obi-Wan’s matter-of-fact gaze, but somehow the air between the men seemed positively electric with tension. Luke raised his spoon and flung a glob of oatmeal, which landed on Owen’s plate.

The man pushed back abruptly from his seat and stalked away, casting over his shoulder, “Outside, please.”

Beru shot an angry look at her husband’s back, then turned to Obi-Wan in silent apology. He raised a hand to indicate she wasn’t at fault, and rose to follow him.

With the kitchen open to the courtyard, stepping out didn't exactly afford them privacy to continue their quarrel. They didn't even move fully out of sight; from Sabé's place, she could see Obi-Wan's back where he'd planted himself opposite Owen. His posture, though firm, looked somehow peaceful. Like a tree which simply grew up from the soil where it was rooted. She knew him well enough now to know it wasn't simply the contrast with Owen's frenetic energy as he paced back and forth, gravel crunching beneath his boots.

"This isn't about the Troopers, is it?" Obi-Wan said at last, tone even.

"No, it's kriffing _not_ about the Troopers! It's about what else you didn't tell me."

"Your uncle needs to watch his mouth," Beru murmured, angling her chair closer to Luke.

"Mouf!" he repeated, and while he was distracted pointing to his own mouth, Beru wrestled the spoon from his fingers.

"Let's try to get some oatmeal in there."

Sabé's went untouched as she strained to hear the men.

"Meditation? Really?"

"I can explain--"

"I'm sure you can," Owen cut him off. "Luke is _two years old_. He can hardly speak in sentences. He's still in diapers, for stars' sake!"

"Yes, he made that evident as he sat on my lap while _I_ meditated."

Beru's lips twisted in the hint of a smirk, but her husband's reply indicated he was far from amused.

"I'm a lot less worried about taking him to Anchorhead where there _might_ be Imperials than I am about _you_ leading 'em straight to him with your Jedi hocus pocus."

Sabé sucked in a sharp breath. That was below the belt, and Obi-Wan must have felt it. But he didn't flinch.

"Surely you can't think I'd come if my presence placed Luke in any danger."

Gravel crunched again as Owen resumed pacing. "I _didn't_ think that. Now...I don't know _what_ to think. Damn it, Kenobi, you told me your girlfriend was _safe_."

_That_ produced a subtle shift in Obi-Wan's stance, the serenity vanishing as his shoulders squared, fingers cinched inward beneath the wide sleeves of his tunic. Her own clutched the sides of her chair to physically restrain herself from leaping up and making this situation worse.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Doesn't it strike you as a funny coincidence the Empire's left Tatooine alone up till now? Till shortly after _she_ arrived?"

Beru stopped scraping the bottom of Luke's oatmeal bowl with the spoon and cast a sidelong look at her.

Silence.

Except for Luke grunting as he strained for the spoon. "More, pease!"

"It's simple arithmetic to put the pieces of her story together and figure she's a wanted woman."

"Sabé is in hiding, yes."

"Aren't you just two peas in a pod."

Sabé locked eyes with Beru, who straightened as she watched her--a challenge, perhaps--but then her shoulders slumped as she turned away with a sigh of...what? Resignation? Disappointment?

Judgment?

“Yes,” came Obi-Wan’s response, “we _are_ ‘two peas in a pod,’ as a matter of fact.”

“I suppose you’ll tell me that the accusations against her are unwarranted, as well.”

“To my knowledge, no accusation was ever made.”

“Then why’s she on the run?”

“Do you really think an enemy of the Empire is _your_ enemy?”

The moment Beru took the bowl and spoon to the sink, Luke’s kicking rocked the high chair so that Sabé worried he’d tip it. She rose from her seat, removed the tray, and lifted him out. He grabbed her hair as though it was a set of reins, yelling _gee-up_ , as his fingers deposited the goop of his breakfast in the strands. Beru quickly dried her hands and came to take him...but the grim line of her mouth told Sabé it wasn’t to prevent more oatmeal from getting in her hair.

She went to the sink and ran a little water, pulling her fingers along the sticky ends. Beru wiped Luke’s hands and set him down to run into the courtyard.

“I’m not an idiot, Kenobi,” said Owen. “Whatever her past, whatever yours might’ve been--none of it matters.” He said it in the tone of a court justice telling a repeat offender he had to let him go because of lack of evidence. “What _matters_ is they’re out for you. They track you here, that’s the end for us.”

Obi-Wan was silent at that. Drying her hands on a towel, Sabé stilled, and turned to look at him. His back was still to her, arms folded in front of him, probably running his fingers across his moustache and down into his beard. What could he say?

“If you’re in hiding, shouldn’t you actually... _hide_?”

Sabé's face burned, and her heart juddered in the breathless cavity of her chest like an out of control shuttle. She couldn't have had a lower opinion of Owen than in this moment--and the sentiment must have showed on her face, for Beru glanced at her and then darted her eyes away, flushing.

"Do you agree with him?"

"Not with the way he said it."

Owen couldn't have heard his wife, yet when he spoke again, his tone was more pleading, if not precisely apologetic. "Can't you understand? Beru and the boy…they're all I've got in the galaxy. Without them, what's the point of it all?"

"Believe me, Owen," said Obi-Wan, full of compassion, "I understand you better than you'd imagine."

The rows of hatch marks etched into the cellar wall swam before Sabé, each one representing a time he had asked that very question.

Laughter preceded Luke's appearance in the midst of the two men. He darted around between them in unsteady circles, babbling unintelligibly, oblivious to the tension.

"It seems we've overstayed our welcome." Obi-Wan's voice, though not loud, somehow carried over Luke's noise. "For that, I apologize. I hope by the time we return you will understand we want the same thing for the boy. What I can teach him will help to keep him safe."

"Like it kept his father safe? The Republic? For a man warning against recruiters, you sure do sound like you're doing the same thing."

“Pick me! Pick me!” Luke begged, reaching his arms up toward Obi-Wan.

For the first time during this argument, Sabé saw him waver. A hand hovered over Luke’s head, his blond hair shining in the sun, almost too bright to view directly. He didn’t pick him up, but ran his palm over the golden locks while Luke’s hands wrapped around Obi-Wan’s wrist as though to haul himself up. Unbalanced, Obi-Wan went to his knees and chucked the boy under his chin.

“Sabé and I need to go now, Luke.”

“No go!” Luke shook the wrist he still held.

Obi-Wan gently pried the little fingers off, talking to him all the while. “We’ll be back before you know it. Take care of your aunt and uncle, all right?”

Apparently satisfied, Luke continued his circuit around the courtyard, picking up a flat rock to be a starship and raising it aloft.

“ _Pew pew pew!_ ”

Sabé looked to Beru, who watched her husband with a grim expression. She darted her eyes toward her guest, muttered, “I’m sorry about all this,” before dropping her rag on the counter and going outside to Owen. Sabé trailed her mutely, but Obi-Wan came to her at once.

“Let’s ready our things,” was all he said.


	23. Chapter 23

There was only peace as they rode out from the Lars homestead. Obi-Wan cast out his senses for Jawas and Tuskens, Troopers and Hutt thugs, but felt nothing that oughtn't be near Luke.

_Except for us,_ he thought, then immediately discarded it like a worn out garment. That way of thinking no longer suited him. Did no one any favors, not Luke or the Larses, nor anyone they'd met here. Certainly not himself or Sabé.

She was cloaked in it, however, heavy at his back. Not a single word had passed her lips since she'd said goodbye to Luke, her voice breaking on his name. She hadn't cried, though Obi-Wan had felt how close the tears were behind her smile, the Force shuddering like her breath. He kept his own breathing slow and steady now as she pressed her forehead to his back.

Peace. Acceptance. He allowed them to drape him like a veil, like cleansing rain.

Even if he didn’t agree.

He’d drawn peace to him when he’d talked with Owen. Enough emotion had radiated from Luke's uncle for the both of them, and he’d hoped that his calm would make a difference in the outcome. He’d been surprised before...but perhaps he’d underestimated the stakes this time.

His one stupid mistake.

He let that go, too. Released all guilt and blame.

The expectation that his purpose on Tatooine was to train Luke.

This came as something of a surprise to Obi-Wan. His fingers curled inward to keep hold, but not before some of it slipped away beyond his reach.

Unencumbered, he could drift further, deeper into the Force. Carried over waves of sand and light. He felt the brush of Qui-Gon's presence. Master Yoda's, too, as though he'd swum across the galaxy from the opposite direction.

"Sent you, no one did, to Tatooine," the wizened voice rasped through his mind, stirring up memories of that last council they'd kept together on Bail Organa's ship.

"It was the will of the Force," Obi-Wan replied.

"Certain of it, you were."

"I am certain still," said Obi-Wan, "that this is where I'm meant to be. It's the reason why that I am less sure of."

"Perhaps it is not a matter of _why_ , but of _when_ ," Qui-Gon suggested. "Perhaps it is both. Young Luke is not the only person on Tatooine who needs looking after. As you well know."

"A hermit no longer are you, Master Obi-Wan?" Yoda asked, a chuckle rattling in his throat. "Good, good. Learn a different way, you will. About much the Jedi were wrong."

"But there was much we were right about," said Qui-Gon.

"I shall write it down," Obi-Wan told them. "The right and the wrong."

For a little while longer they communed wordlessly, and Obi-Wan thanked the Force for the reminder that he was not the last, nor would he be, whether or not Owen Lars permitted him to teach Luke. All was, and would be, as the Force willed, and it flowed in him and through him.

It carried him back to the here and now: the slow rocking motion of Nagpal's gait, Sabé's body behind him. Eyes still closed, he focused on the ebb and flow of it, advance and retreat.

"This used to drive me to distraction, you know," Obi-Wan said. The first words either of them had spoken on the ride.

"What did?" Sabé rasped.

"This." He leaned lightly against her so that her breasts touched his back.

She raised her head, leaving a damp spot between his shoulder blades.

"This." He sank down into the heat of her groin and her thighs around his.

Her breath hitched, then continued quicker, shallower.

Obi-Wan released the reins with one hand to cover hers, just below his belt, dipping lower with the eopie's uneven plodding. "This," he whispered. "All those rides to Mos Espa...the Starfalls'. Wanting you, before I knew I loved you. Before I knew I could." He drew her hand upward, tugged his scarf down so he could trace his lips along the hills and valleys of her knuckles. "And then when I rode to Luke without you...all I could think of was how much I missed you."

"You should've gone without me this time, too," she choked out, even as her arm snaked tighter around his waist, and she again pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades.

So that was it. She blamed herself.

“No.” He twisted to face her. “No. It wasn’t you. Or the news of the Troopers, for that matter.” Turning back in the saddle, he looked ahead to the horizon, a blank, vibrant line, shimmering in the heat of the day. It was impossible to tell whether it was near or far, or what lay beyond. “This has been coming for a long time.”

After a while she rested her cheek against his back. The guilt no longer enfolded her, but trailed, like a loose scarf. He supposed neither of them would ever be fully free of it, but he couldn't release her. He could only tell her what he believed to be true, and that was hers to accept, or not.

They stopped twice to rest and drink under outcroppings, too hot to do more than nibble on the bread and dried meat Beru had insisted they take. There was little to say, even if they had enough energy for conversation. Once Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon’s legs dangling over the top of the ledge, but he was too exhausted to invite him in, so his Master left.

Besides, he knew what he’d say.

“What?” asked Sabé.

Had he just spoken aloud? He cleared his throat. “Never be mindful of the future at the expense of the moment.”

She bit off some of the jerky and handed it back to him, chewing silently as she watched the distant haze. “A plan is worth a thousand bullets.”

He tipped his canteen in her direction in a toast, then took several long draughts.

"But a plan only goes so far against human will," he countered. "A very stubborn will, in the case of Owen Lars. I can't force him to change his mind about me."

"Well, you _could_ ," Sabé said.

Obi-Wan rubbed his beard. Yes. He could. "But--"

What if Owen was right? _Had_ the Order been so very different from the Imperial recruiters? If things had gone on as they had always been, Luke would be taken to the Temple at this age, if not earlier. Obi-Wan couldn't imagine any upbringing for himself but that as a Jedi Youngling, but neither could he imagine the happy two-year-old anywhere but toddling after his aunt and uncle on their moisture farm, where he was loved.

_A matter of when_ , Qui-Gon had suggested. Could Luke yet be trained in the Force, after being raised as an ordinary child by a family?

"That wouldn't be you." Sabé pressed dry lips to his cheek, then took the canteen from him and drank. After twisting the cap back on, she hauled herself to her feet. “Best be getting on. See what the future holds for us.”

Obi-Wan smiled at her back as they picked their way down the hillside where they'd set Nagpal to forage. _He_ knew--what tonight held, at least.

It was late afternoon when they neared Motesta Oasis. Instead of the expected relief and excitement, a sense of distress reached toward them, long and dark as their shadows on the ground.

“What is it?” whispered Sabé. She must’ve felt him tense.

“Not sure,” he murmured, “but let’s be careful.”

She drew her rifle and he heard the quiet, oiled slide of her cocking it.

They could range farther north and bypass the trouble entirely, but he couldn't ignore a note of fear beneath the upset. He spurred Nagpal onward.

As they drew closer, Obi-Wan saw the bantha pen and the huts--but no people.

“Well, feed me to the fishes of Naboo,” breathed Sabé. “Is that...water?”

He threw up a hand for silence, scanned the cliffs on the south side. Nothing. Where were the oasis keepers, Mr. and Mrs. Brightmoon? He sensed them, and a few others, perhaps hiding in their huts. He heard the banthas, stamping in fear in the pen. But there was something else.

Skirting the formation of tents, Obi-Wan finally spotted Agata Brightmoon. She stood near the edge of the oasis, holding a rifle loosely at her side and looking toward the bantha pen. Continuing on, they passed a hut. On the other side he saw Rumi, similarly armed.

"There's something to the west," Obi-Wan murmured, and attuned his senses that way. He didn't have to cast out far before he felt the rumble in the Force: _hunger_. Some creature was on the hunt. But where?

"There." Sabé slid down from Nagpal's back, strode out on front of the eopie. Raised her rifle to her shoulder, and looked through the site. "I've got it."

Obi-Wan still didn't see it, though he could sense the ravenous appetite. Dismounting, he kept hold of Nagpal's bridle while he tracked Sabé's sightline to a column that spanned the bottom of the cliff to an overhang. Was that his imagination, or was the jutting outline of rock not, in fact, a rock? He thought he'd seen it shift, though that might've been a trick of the low sunlight and the heat coming off the water, making the rocky terrain appear to ripple.

He looked to Sabé, her finger moving to the trigger. "You're too far away…"

A flicker of her jaw muscle. "I'm not."

He tightened his grip on Nagpal's reins and rubbed his snout, calming him through the Force.

Like a bolt of lightning, the shot rang out.

The jut Obi-Wan had spied on the column definitely moved--but Sabé, markswoman that she was, had accounted for that. It fell in a blur of rock-colored hide--he still had no idea what the creature was--and hit the ground.

For a heartbeat it lay motionless, and Obi-Wan thought it had been a kill, but then he heard the click of Sabé cocking the rifle for a second round, and the animal lumbered upright with an enraged roar. But now that it no longer had the camouflaged cover of the column, Sabé had the advantage, and the crack of her second shot silenced the predator forever.

Rumi and Agata Brightmoon's shouts of joy drowned out the reverberation of the shot, and Sabé lowered her rifle with a teeth-baring grin.

"You told me so," said Obi-Wan, and was gratified by the sound of her laughter. He made a mental note to have her shoot something whenever she was sad.

Agata reached them first, shouldering her own rifle and pressing a hand into Sabé’s as she thanked her repeatedly. “That massiff has been stalking the pen for a week,” she said, breathless. “We could never catch it.”

Rumi joined them with a grim nod. “It seemed fixated on our banthas, but then it started prowling around the huts. We’ve had to set up a watch. Waking up our guests every night trying to shoot the thing.”

Obi-Wan noted the dark circles under his eyes, and his wife’s. Hadn’t they had help? Or had they borne the responsibility alone?

“We were this close to shutting down the place temporarily, until we could kill it. Last thing we need is a maiming.”

“Or a death,” added Agata.

“Please,” said Rumi. “Be our guests tonight.”

“We couldn’t--” Obi-Wan began.

“We insist.”

“Then let us help you haul that thing away.”

Together the men dragged the massiff, a large canine-looking animal that was in fact reptilian,  toward a larger hut. Inside hung a slab of meat. On the periphery stood cabinets, and in the center a large table, with pots and pans hanging overhead from hooks. In the shadows he heard the hum of a power generator connected to a refrigeration unit. He didn’t want to think of what Agata and Rumi had in mind for the massiff. He’d never tried the meat himself--this was the first time he'd even seen one--but certainly the hide could prove useful for patching leaks in the guest huts.

When they emerged from the kitchen, Sabé and Agata were just returning from the pen, where they’d left Nagpal. Obi-Wan hurried to take one of the saddlebags from her, and together they followed Agata to the hut that would be theirs for the night.

“I was just telling your wife,” said Agata as she automatically smoothed the coverlet on the low bed, “that it’s hard on us, not having children. We probably could’ve dispatched that thing ourselves, but with just the two of us...well, I don’t have to tell you. Life’s hard.”

“That it is,” agreed Obi-Wan.

“Think you’ll have kids?” Agata pressed.

Suddenly speechless, he looked to Sabé, feeling his cheeks warm under their hostess’ gaze.

“Oh, it’s all--we’re newlyweds.” Sabé’s face turned bright red.

“Newlyweds!” gushed Agata. “Well, time enough, then, for that. Time enough.” She chuckled. “Let this be your honeymoon suite.” She laughed herself outside through the door flap and called for her husband. “Rumi, you’ll never guess…”

When their voices had receded and he was sure they were out of earshot, Obi-Wan said, "Newlyweds, _hmm_?"

Still flushed, she said, "I noticed you didn't correct her when she called me your _wife_."

"What would I have said? You don't like being called my _girlfriend._ "

She pulled a face. "It makes us sound like teenagers."

"I quite agree." They'd moved toward each other as they said this, standing close enough now that his arms naturally moved to enricle her waist and draw her against him. She had to feel his heart pounding. "You like the sound of my _wife_ , though?"

Sabé's eyes shone. "I do."

"Good, because I like the sound of _your husband_."

Obi-Wan could hardly believe these words were falling from his lips, yet they felt as right as kissing her. Which he did, hands sliding up her back to hold her as close to him as he could get her, until she trembled against him. He held her tighter, deepening the kiss, warmth swelling in his chest that he could have this effect on her…

...and then her mouth broke away from his and she ducked her head beneath his chin. _Laughing_ against his chest.

"Sorry," she huffed out amidst her giggles. "It's just…" She lifted her amused face to his. "I shot a giant lizard dog thing, and then you decided I must be your wife."

Although his stomach quivered as her contagious laughter spread to him, Obi-Wan managed to hold it back and arch an eyebrow. "What else did you expect from Barvy Ben?"

This made her laugh harder, and his rang out, too. The guests in the other huts might well be as alarmed by the mad newcomers as they had been by the massiff.

But this joy was irrepressible. It bubbled out, like a well of water.

"I know just the way to celebrate," he said.

Sabé moved toward the bed, but Obi-Wan lifted the door flap and swept his hand for her to go out. When she looked at him, askance, he said, "Not to worry, it's nothing exhibitionist. Unless you're opposed to skinny dipping."

“It’s been a while,” she said, dropping her scarf from her shoulders onto the sand at their door, “but I think I remember how.”

Obi-Wan could only stare in appreciation as she crossed to the water, dropping items of clothing as she went. He couldn’t miss the spring in her step, as though she couldn’t wait to wade in, but when she reached the shore she turned around and waited.

Just as she had in the cellar. Naked and unafraid.

He joined her, stripping as he went, grateful that the other guests had retired early--not that their presence would’ve deterred this indulgence. Sabé’s eyes swept over his body, but then her gaze shifted to drink in the vast pool. He saw questions flicker across her face, perhaps wondering how an oasis came to be in this desolate place, but she must have discarded them all when she stepped into the water.

A moan escaped her lips as she waded in further, and Obi-Wan watched, mesmerized, as the warm water lapped at her calves, the backs of her knees, her thighs. When it reached her hips she laughed...and dove in head first.

He didn’t see her for a few breaths longer than he would’ve liked; but just as his heartbeat accelerated, she emerged on the opposite side, her dark hair sleek as a pelt. She laughed again. Perhaps she’d laughed the entire time she’d been underwater. He could almost imagine her with gills down there, cavorting like some mythical Naboo lake goddess.

His face hurt from smiling.

“Come in, come in, you beautiful man!” she shouted. And disappeared again.

He waded in, and the water was as warm and soothing as it had been during his last lonely visit. But he was alone no more, nor was she. A laugh bubbled from his throat--

Only to be cut off by a shriek as something grabbed his ankle and climbed up his legs, hand over hand. Then he chuckled again when Sabé popped out of the water and planted a hard kiss on his mouth.

“This,” she said between breaths, “is a better honeymoon than I could’ve ever imagined.”

He _hmm_ ed his agreement as he kissed her again and again. He’d never imagined it.

And now here he was, kissing a sea goddess in the tiny bit of ocean that was theirs. She pulled him under with her, lips still together, and it was as though she gave him breath. In a way, she had.

They came apart as their heads broke the surface, gasping for air and then laughing about it like children competing for who could hold their breath the longest. Sabé's hand emerged from the water to push his hair out of his eyes, and he saw hers twinkling.

"Race you across!" she said, and took off without so much as a ready-set-go.

He’d nearly caught up with her when a sudden burst of speed took her to the far edge and he gave up, panting and clapping his approval of her win, and his defeat. She was a better swimmer, efficient and quiet; he felt like a dog paddling in comparison. Which was fine by him.

Kicking up to float on his back, he breathed slowly. The twin suns warmed his torso, but they would dip below the jutting cliffs soon. What might a moonlight swim might be like? Maybe they could simply drift here all night.

When he grew tired, he drew on the Force for more buoyancy, closed his eyes, hands palm-up at his sides. Sabé’s hand grazed his; perhaps she’d come to float beside him. For a time all was quiet, until a splash told him she’d given up.

He couldn’t help the smirk that quirked his lips.

“How are you doing that?” she asked.

“Not everyone can be a champion swimmer,” he replied serenely. “But some of us can float for a ridiculously long time. It’s a skill.”

A wall of water hit him, destroying his concentration, and his feet found bottom. Sabé kept splashing him and laughing, until he started to splash back.

"This is very childish," she said, turning her face away from a rush of water.

"It is," he agreed. "Maybe we are." He certainly felt reborn.

All around them, the water shone, reflecting the low golden light of the setting suns. It shimmered in the air as they splashed each other, like sparks swirling upward from flame, or lightning bugs performing their mating dances. Closer they swam, until Sabé's hands reached out to circle his wrists.

"You've caught me," said Obi-Wan.

She only smiled, her face serene, as she drew his arms around her, then turned in the circle of them. They could just touch bottom on their toes, swaying slightly, like aquatic plants, as they silently watched the suns slide, one following the other, beneath the hills. The sunset colors deepened into darkness until the stars twinkled out. And then a scythe of moonlight sliced through the sky, ripping away the black of a mourning veil to replace it with a bride’s.

Sabé faced him again, crowned with moonlight as she had been at the Starfalls'. Somehow, they had transcended from revelry to holy ritual. No barrier hung between him-- _them_ \--and the Force.

  
"Should we go in?" she asked. "Eat? Sleep?" Her dimples deepened. " _Not_ sleep?"

He nodded, and they swam back. A wedding feast, and a wedding night.

They picked up their clothes like lost children following a trail of breadcrumbs until they reached their hut and let the door flap swing shut behind them. The Brightmoons must have sneaked in during their swim, for a large tray of food under a metal cover waited on the mat at the foot of the low bed. Fat candles inside hurricane glass burned on each of the two short bedside tables.

Obi-Wan found towels hanging from hooks on the skeletal framing and handed Sabé one. As they dried themselves, he saw her eye the two bathrobes that hung by the door flap on the opposite side, but then she crossed to the mat, folded her towel, and sat down on it. She shot him an expectant glance before she lifted the tray cover.

Steam rose, and Sabé leaned forward to inhale the scents, sighing in anticipation as her eyes darted to Obi-Wan. “Sit,” she ordered. “I’m famished.”

He did, and they tucked in, eschewing the two small dinner plates in favor of eating from the same large serving platter. Their forks stabbed at the vegetables and bantha meat and scraped the dish, and they groaned as spices exploded on their tongues. It was a simple meal, yet to Obi-Wan it was more decadent than a coronation feast.

And no better queen than the one sitting naked across from him.

Using their forks to scrape every last morsel, they picked the platter clean, licked their fingers, and belatedly wiped their mouths with the napkins that lay, neatly folded, at the edge of the tray.

"What's in the carafe?" Sabé asked, and Obi-Wan noticed the earthenware vessel for the first time; they'd been too hungry to think of drinking.

He picked it up and poured a dark draught into both cups, its aroma familiar.

"Pallie wine," he said. "I've seen it in Mos Espa. It's...not cheap wine."

Once again, he was moved by the generosity people were capable of on this unyielding rock.

They raised their cups and drank together. Sabé moaned. "It's so sweet." Obi-Wan _mmm_ ed in agreement.

Inside a covered container they found flat bread sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, and they broke off small bites to savor between sips of wine. Although conversation lapsed, their smiles stretched as they ate and drank and gazed at each other.

_A new man_ , she’d dubbed him after cutting his hair. But his transformation had begun long before then, and continued even now. _Husband_. He was more than he’d ever thought he should be as a Jedi. What might he become, in the unknowable future? What else hadn’t he thought to wish for in his secret heart?

They finished the wine--it would’ve soured by morning--and rose as one. For several moments they simply stood, looking at each other by the flickering candlelight. It brought out the golden flecks in her eyes, highlighted the silver threads woven through her hair, which had dried in waves after their swim. The wine stained her pouting lips dark, the color of her nipples. As his eyes dropped to them, she stepped toward him, and then his senses were full of her, sweet tongue gliding with his, her breasts cupped in his hands, hers sliding over his backside.

It was unclear how they got there, but now they knelt face to face on the bed, surrounded by flickering light and the sounds of night. Her fingers combed through his hair, and soon he felt their reverent ministrations, almost as though she’d found a strand of gold to weave into it. But it was only his hair, a simple braid, like the one she wore. Like the one he used to wear. This one tickled his shoulder when she released it, as did her kiss upon his skin.

"Marking me your learner?" he asked.

Mouth still on his shoulder, curving in a smile, she lifted her eyes to meet his, but he bent to kiss her neck and her reply turned to a wordless hum.

Her sighs in his ear were as vows, and he returned them in kind. Lowering her to the bed, his lips and tongue found the center of her desire, where he gave proof of his devotion, until she drew him up to her and they became one.

Physically, it felt no different than any other time they'd made love--and although he wanted to think that perhaps with practice he was getting better at it, they'd had a long day's ride in the desert, followed by their swim, and the wine made everything a little hazy around the edges. He couldn't even say for certain if he felt a deeper sense of satisfaction knowing that this was permanent, for hadn't his heart bound itself to her long before he'd even touched his lips to hers? He'd never loved until her. There would only ever be her.

Afterward, they moved apart just to blow out the candles and pull up the blankets before settling into each other's arms again. Obi-Wan smiled a little in the dark as he remembered lying rigid in the small bed at home in the effort not to touch her. What vanity that had been. It felt unreal, like a dream, compared to the stroke of her fingers across his hipbone, the tickle of her eyelashes against his shoulder as they opened and closed. His own eyes were closed, and sleep was beckoning, when Sabé chuckled.

"Hm?" was all he could manage to say.

Sabé's fingers reached up to run along the plait she’d given him. "I suppose we'll have to tell Sim and Mari we ran off and got married."

Obi-Wan grinned, though his eyelids wouldn't budge. "Yes," he replied, and fell asleep to her playing with his hair.


	24. Chapter 24

Somewhat reluctantly, Sabé dragged herself out of bed at dawn for their departure from Motesta Oasis--but early mornings were the way of it for travelers on Tatooine, as Obi-Wan, already dressed, unnecessarily reminded her. A breakfast of creamy blue bantha yogurt and dried fruit and nuts provided further incentive to get on with the day.

As they saddled up Nagpal, they met the other guests packing up their own mounts and landspeeders. Obi-Wan inquired whether any of them had come from Bestine; one, a merchant headed to Mos Eisley, said that he had.

"Have there been any Imperial Troopers?" Obi-Wan asked. While they ate, he’d suggested to Sabé that they stop in Bestine tonight, but only if it was safe to do so. "Two weeks ago we encountered recruiters in Mos Espa."

"Aye." The foreigner spat on the ground, a superstitious ritual  incongruous with his modern clothing. "Moved on, but rumor has it they're going to install a garrison."

Sabé's heart immediately raced as it had the day they'd seen the white-armored troops. Permanent Imperial presence on Tatooine. Was there no escaping them? Obi-Wan's hand found hers, thumb stroking over her pulse point, as if to physically transfer his serenity to her. She breathed deliberately, deeply in, then slowly back out again, to try and calm herself. It wouldn't do to go to pieces every time she heard news of the Empire.

Besides, Obi-Wan was Emperor Palpatine’s “most wanted.” For all she knew, she might not even be on the Troopers’ radar. She schooled her expression to approximate Obi-Wan’s, neutral and pleasant but firm, and felt the mask slip onto her face like the makeup she’d worn as Queen.

"Something about maintaining law and order in the capital," the man went on. "Don't suppose that'll include the Hutts, though, will it?"

Rumi Brightmoon, who was seeing to everyone's canteens before they set out, snorted. "Not that it was any different under the Republic."

The shift was almost imperceptible, but nevertheless Sabé felt Obi-Wan's reaction to this in the slight stiffening of his fingers around her own.

“One advantage of living in the Outer Rim,” Mr. Brightmoon added, handing Sabé their filled canteens, “is that no one much bothers with us. That’s also a disadvantage when it comes to gangsters like the Hutts, but there you have it. Take the good with the bad.”

“Don’t worry,” the merchant shot back. He hoisted himself up into his Courier and stowed his pack at his feet. “When the Imperials move in permanently, they’ll make up for lost time.”

He fired up the vehicle, gave his host a curt nod, and sped away, making the other guests scatter to avoid the heat and fumes of his exhaust.

Mr. Brightmoon’s normally cheerful face set in grim lines as he watched the silhouette diminish into the brightening horizon, but he made sure his smile had returned by the time he faced Obi-Wan and Sabé to thank them again for dispatching the massiff last night, and offering them the “family rate” next time they visited.

“Do you think things will change that quickly?” Sabé asked when they’d put the oasis behind them.

The suns were barely up, and already sweat ran in rivulets down the center of her back. Because of the heat, she could barely tolerate holding onto Obi-Wan’s hips for balance. Nagpal’s slow, loping gait made her feel slightly ill, so she took a long draught from her canteen, but the water on her salty upper lip evaporated before she could lick it.

“I’ve learned that to underestimate what the Empire is capable of is possibly the worst mistake one can make," came Obi-Wan's quiet reply, as if even moderating volume were crucial to preserving their strength in the desert. "So, yes. I do.”

She nodded, though he couldn’t see it. It was too hot to speak, and what could they say anyhow? _We could go to Alderaan_. But, given the whispering across the galaxy that rebellion forces might even now be germinating there, that planet was under the highest scrutiny. No place for two fugitives, especially if they hoped to keep Leia safe from Vader.

And yet here was Luke on Vader’s--Anakin’s--home planet, and there was Leia growing up a princess, about as far from anonymity as she could get. It was almost absurd.

_Hide in plain sight_ , Padmé’s voice echoed. And that had worked for her, always. That wasn’t what had killed her in the end.

What _had_ , Sabé still didn't know. She'd never found the courage to ask, afraid to face the answer, or to make Obi-Wan face it. Even now she hesitated; the day's ride ahead of them presented challenge enough without adding an emotional burden. On the other hand, he always carried it, whether they spoke of it or remained silent. Hadn't they learned to share the load?

The ride had already left her parched, however, and this conversation was probably best left till a time when his back wasn't to her. Her mind lingered on the subject despite her attempts to steer it away. Now that she'd met Luke and discussed Padmé with his aunt, she felt it was time to fill in the gaps in her knowledge.

By mid-morning they'd ridden nearly as far as the settlement of Arnthout, on the outskirts of which a grove of scrubby trees offered scattered shade. They had to sit close beneath the low branches, almost knee to knee, but it was still more space than the saddle allowed.

Obi-Wan gave her a small smile. "Funny how at night we can't get close enough, but now we'd rather not touch."

"Perhaps if we had as few clothes on as we do at night."

"The sunburn would be most unpleasant." He winced and shifted positions. "Not to mention these scratchy branches."

“Let’s not forget saddle sores.”

He chuckled and sipped from his canteen, then poured a bit into his hand to rub over the back of his neck. Sabé did the same and felt some relief when it evaporated, cooling her skin a fraction.

"Do you still want to stay the night in Bestine?" he asked, expression serious. "If you'd rather camp somewhere, we can."

Sabé took another sip and considered. As much as she’d loved their two nights under the stars on their way to the Lars homestead, she said, "It might be my last chance to see the capital without Imperial flags flying. If you think it's safe…"

She looked into his eyes and thought of how they'd glowed this morning when he told her his plan. He wanted to show her more of her new home...such as it was. _"They have a tourist bureau,"_ he'd said with a waggle of his eyebrows. She'd laughed. _"The kind with holobrochures? How civilized."_

"We'll be careful," he said now, with a decisive nod that gave way to an uncertain hitch of his eyebrows. "I hope I haven't oversold it. Motesta Oasis may well be the best honeymoon destination Tatooine has to offer."  

“It was perfect,” she assured him.

Obi-Wan returned her smile, and they ate some of their rations in silence, until he finally said, “So are you going to tell me what you were thinking so hard about on our way here?”

Sabé looked at him askance. “I thought you couldn’t read minds.”

He paused, prolonging her suspense with a long, mischievous look, before admitting, “Of course I can’t. But I could sense you mulling over something.” He took a bite of jerky as she goggled at him. “That’s not a Jedi talent, by the way.”

She swatted at his shoulder, but he ducked aside. “Too hot for hitting!” he chastised.

Gradually, their laughter faded, and so did their smiles, as all things did here beneath the twin suns, but Obi-Wan's gaze remained open, inviting her into a calm and restorative place like the oasis they'd left behind.

She took a breath and dived in. "I was thinking about Padmé."

His brow furrowed, the lines around his eyes deepened, but he asked, "What about her?"

"Do you know how she died?"

He didn't answer right away, appearing to look beyond her. Into the past. "Yes. I was with her. When she gave birth. And when she died."

"Oh." Sabé felt it as an old wound, freshly opened. After her escape she'd found the obituary from Naboo that cited pregnancy complications as the cause of Padmé's death--which had then been buried beneath the Empire's propaganda that Obi-Wan Kenobi, rogue Jedi and traitor to the Republic, murdered her. "Did she...die in childbirth?"

Obi-Wan was quiet for so long she almost wondered if he was too deep in memory to have heard her. Finally, he gave his head the slightest of shakes and rasped, "She gave up."

It was as though he’d struck her in the chest. “I don’t believe you.”

Her voice, too loud, seemed to draw him back from that time and place. He blinked. Lowered his gaze to the untouched flatbread in his hand. “It took me a long time to accept--”

“I’ll never accept that, because it wasn’t her.” Sabé's body flushed, making her, if possible, even hotter. She raked her fingers through her hair, tugging it away from her sweaty scalp. Resisted the impulse to yank harder, to rest her forehead on the ground, to disappear. Instead, she faced him in challenge. “She would _never_ give up.”

“Anakin took everything from her. Destroyed all she’d spent her life building. How does one come back from that?”

“It’s our duty to--”

“ _I nearly didn’t_.”

When he raised his eyes to her, she saw it all again on his face--the grief, the desolation, the hopelessness--but he shouldered on. “You remember how I was when you found me. Padmé just...was quicker about it.”

Her breath caught as she stared at him, wishing he’d take it back. Knowing he couldn’t.

Sabé only knew she was crying because of the tightness in her chest. _Kark the heat and the sweat, kark everything_. Reaching out, she wrapped trembling arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and they clung to each other, his fingers clenching into the muscles of her back.

They wouldn’t lose another thing, another person, she vowed then and there. They’d stand together, _stronger_ together, for each other, just as two vines entwined to grow higher toward nourishing light.

At length they pulled away and sat apart, sipping at their canteens and nibbling bread. Sabé wiped the sweaty tears from her face, even as they continued to quietly flow. Padmé deserved better. Her children deserved their mother. Obi-Wan deserved a life, and so did she. As suddenly as a flash of lightning, Sabé’s black terror of Vader became tinged with white-hot rage.

That, she decided, was a good thing.

“What about Luke?” she asked. When Obi-Wan didn’t reply, she prodded, “I don’t care what Owen said. You have to teach him. Leia, too.”

He finished chewing, swallowed. Stared into the sun-drenched dunes for so long that Sabé tore off a hunk of bread and popped it into her mouth.

“I’m no longer certain that I should.”

She nearly choked. How could he say that?

“The life of a Jedi is the only one I’ve ever known. Who’s to say it’s the best thing for them? Perhaps the Force is leading them along different paths--”

“You know that’s bantha dung.”

“I’m not sure _what_ I know. Perhaps everything I was so positive about was merely the expression of my own training. Some might call it indoctrination. As Owen said, it’s not so different to what the Empire is doing.”

Heart pounding once more, she blurted out, “That sounds an awful lot like giving up to me.”

“It seems to me there’s a difference between giving up and letting go.” He softened his tone when he looked at her. “That’s all I know at the moment.”

Fair enough, Sabé supposed; after all, Obi-Wan understood the ways of the Jedi far better than she. It was only reasonable that two years' introspection and conversation with a ghost had brought him to a point of questioning. Or perhaps letting go of old beliefs _was_ the Jedi way, another form of non-attachment.

And shouldn't Luke and Leia have a choice? But how could they choose if Obi-Wan wasn't there to show them their potential?

He must've seen the doubt in her eyes, because he leaned over and whispered in her ear, "The Force is leading _me_ along a different path. I'd thought Tatooine was the end of the road for me, but now I see a way forward."

Sabé pressed a hand to his jaw to prevent his turning away and captured him with her gaze. "I'm on the path with you."

With his slight nod, he tilted his head to press his mouth to hers.

~*~

When at last their path brought them to Bestine, Sabé was shocked by the cleanliness and order. As Tatooine’s first settlement, large and relatively prosperous, its citizens and leaders took evident pride in the upkeep of buildings and streets. The domed roofs were scrubbed of the bird dung she’d seen everywhere else, the wide streets swept clear of the debris of travelers and merchants, even the fabric sunshades over doorways and market stalls flapped spotless and well-mended in the breeze. Obi-Wan had told her that crime was low here--or at least it kept to the back rooms, unlike in Mos Espa.

“Maybe you’re right,” she told Obi-Wan as he tethered Nagpal near a water trough. She adjusted the rifles on her back and slung her pack over one shoulder. Her small blaster hung at her hip. “We should go to the visitors’ bureau.”

It wasn’t difficult to find, situated at the entrance of the main thoroughfare, its quaint, hand-lettered sign dangling from a metal pipe over the open doorway.

As they entered the cool, dim space, Sabé let the silence envelop her. She took several slow breaths while her eyes adjusted; but just as the holobrochures came into greater relief, a snore startled her.

The attendant, fast asleep, sat on a stool, head resting on his forearms on the countertop.

“Seems a peaceful town so far,” said Obi-Wan, his mustache quivering over a smirk.

Sabé hissed with laughter, nearly doubling over in her effort not to wake the man.

Not to be deterred, Obi-Wan drifted toward a framed poster on the wall--a travel advertisement for the Pit of Carkoon. Sabé came to stand beside him and studied the illustration of tentacles reaching out of the spiny pit in the sand, set against the picturesque backdrop of a canyon and and a binary sunset. "Not at all my idea of a romantic honeymoon destination," she said.

"No," Obi-Wan concurred. A glance revealed his expression had darkened, and Sabé knew he'd been reminded of that Twi'lek in Mos Espa who'd tried to kidnap her, who'd been executed as a result of Obi-Wan's attempt to nudge him into a different line of work. Before he could sink deeper into his guilt, she showed him a holobrochure she'd picked up. "This museum seems right up your alley."

Obi-Wan studied it, and she could see it piqued his interest, the fatigue from their journey melting away at the prospect of viewing artwork and, even more exciting, a full krayt dragon skull.

"They close in two hours," he said with a glance at the wall chrono behind the attendant's desk. "Shall we?"

Taking the arm he offered, Sabé glanced back at the attendant who hadn't so much as stirred. "We might've been the only visitors all day, but he'll never know."

On their way out, they noticed a public access HoloNet terminal, so they took advantage of the relative privacy to check Obi-Wan's messages.

"There's one from our benefactor," he told her in hushed tones. "It must be for you, because I can't make sense of it."

"I think you mean _cant_ ," Sabé quipped, and he shook his head, chuckling low as he relinquished the terminal to her.

It was a brief message, indeed written in spy cant, so there was little for her to translate. Even so, she went over it several times because she was sure she must have misunderstood. But no--the misunderstanding was on her parents' end. _Are you pregnant?_ they wanted to know. It hadn't occurred to her they'd think _we're planting a garden together_ might be a code within a karking code. Her face flamed.

And Obi-Wan saw. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," she replied. "Just...something they asked about you."

He didn't speak again until after she'd composed her reply and logged out of the terminal.

"Apparently your parents were right to be curious," he said. "You've gone and married me."

He said it as if he couldn't believe it, and was repeating it to make sure it was real. Sabé shared the feeling. "I told them." Her cheeks warmed again.

Did he suspect this wasn't strictly the truth? She couldn't bring herself to tell him about the misunderstanding. Not yet. Not after that awkward moment last night when Mrs. Brightmoon asked if they planned to have children.

She fully expected the Museum of Tatooine to be as underpopulated as the Visitors’ Bureau--not to mention underwhelming. Instead, they found a vast synstone structure surrounded by a flagstone courtyard featuring the first they'd seen of what could be considered landscaping on the desert world. Flowering shrubs grew in raised beds, which Sabé and Obi-Wan, armed with their newfound gardening expertise, paused to admire and discuss.

"This must be imported soil," Sabé said, raking her fingers through it. The familiar earthy scent made her suddenly homesick for their hovel in the Wastes. Was their little cellar garden getting along all right?

With a gentle tug on her hand, Obi-Wan led her toward the museum entrance, a staircase leading to an arched door. A plaque next to it described the carved wood as being reclaimed from a species of now extinct local tree. He placed his palm on it before reaching for the handle. As it swept open, a cacophony of high-pitched voices echoing inside greeted them, as did the man behind the desk--a rather fraught-looking human with a receding hairline.

"Hello and welcome to the Bestine Museum," he said, words tumbling out one on top of the other, with a backward glance at the source of the noise: several dozen children of various species, just visible in the back of the museum through a series of arched doorways. "I hope you enjoy your visit, but you may appreciate it rather more tomorrow." His accent, Sabé noted, wasn't quite Coruscanti, but not the flat local dialect, either. An affectation. "The Lightwind Orphanage is here for their annual field trip."

"We're only in town for the night," Obi-Wan told him, delving into his pocket for druggats to pay the admission.

"And we like kids," Sabé added, meeting his eye, only to glance away with a blush.

The curator put their fees in the till and eyed them suspiciously. Perhaps his experience of children didn’t mirror theirs. Well, he was in the wrong line of work, if he disliked them; surely the one museum around would be a destination for kids and families from all over the region.

They took a brochure (an extra druggat), and Sabé felt the curator’s eyes on their backs as they strode into the first viewing area. Framed paintings of various Tatooine plant life hung on the walls. They were lovely, and some of them quite old, but the information cards posted to their sides didn’t offer much information, so she and Obi-Wan moved on.

The next space proved more interesting, and more populated; they had to edge around other adults to admire the artwork. This room contained modern selections: a few sculptures stood on white pedestals in the center of the crowded space, while more paintings adorned the walls. The work featured closeups of petals, some famous architecture, and renderings of specific facial features of various galactic beings. While Sabé found peace in the clean lines of the architectural art, Obi-Wan seemed particularly moved by the large, expressive eyes depicted in the Mon Calamari piece.

A cheer from the room beyond lured them onward. There they found the group of orphans and their caregivers listening to a docent talking about the main attraction in this space: the massive krayt dragon skull.

“With a full skeleton being forty-five meters in length, the skull is all that would fit in this room,” the elderly woman was saying. “We’d have to expand the museum to hold the whole skeleton!”

“Build it! Build it!” one little Twi’lek girl chanted, until some of her companions joined in and a caregiver shushed them.

Obi-Wan's beard tickled Sabé's cheek as he leaned in to whisper above the din, "I suppose this isn't the time or place for my krayt dragon impression, is it?"

She barely stifled a bark of laughter. "It might enrich their learning experience. This docent is so dry. On the other hand, think how Gunnar woke us all with his roars."

"Hmm. I should take pity on the poor orphanage workers."

But as he watched the children, more interested in them, it seemed, than in the krayt fossil, the twinkle didn't leave his eye. When the group moved on, herded by their caretakers, the little Twi'lek girl lingered, staring up at the skull.

"Pardon me, young one," Obi-Wan said in a growly voice.

The girl's eyes rounded, and she looked behind her, but he was hidden behind an informational sign about krayt pearls. When Sabé shrugged at the girl’s questioning look, she returned her attention to the skull.

"Yes, it's me, young one," Obi-Wan said, again as the krayt. "I miss the rest of my body. Thank you for voting for me to get it back." He added a frightening growl that echoed through the room to great effect.

Even the little girl seemed to shiver as she looked around again with wide eyes, but she tossed her lekku over her shoulder and turned back toward the skull, her back straight as if in defiance of fear itself.

By this time, Sabé had to stifle her chuckle so as not to give the ventriloquist away, so she remained behind when Obi-Wan went to stand next to the child. He mirrored her position with arms crossed over his body, head tilted. For a time, they observed the magnificent specimen in silence. Every once in a while, the girl glanced up at him, her pretty profile so innocent, so trusting. Or perhaps she was sizing him up.

An overwhelming sense of possibility crashed into Sabé. It was as though she looked into the future. There was Obi-Wan, as proud and shameless as only a father could be, with his adoring child never far from his reach.

Sabé’s throat tightened. A happy vision. One that she wanted very much to come to pass.

_The Force is leading me along a different path_. Was this what he foresaw?

“That was you,” said the girl.

“Hmm?” Obi-Wan managed to look startled, as though he had no idea what she could mean.

“It’s just bones. Bones can’t talk.”

“Perhaps some people don’t know how to listen.”

He returned his attention to the skull and missed the eye roll she gave him before turning back to it herself. But then she stole another glance at Obi-Wan. Sabé barely caught the smile that lifted the girl’s cheeks before she scampered off when a caretaker called her to rejoin their group.

Sabé came to his side. Though a rope barrier separated them from the exhibit, it seemed right to stand at a greater distance. Such a dangerous beast, a species so terrible that a whole mythology had sprung from it--a church, even. And yet here was proof that it, too, was mortal. Its fossilized remains could crumble to dust if not handled with extreme care. _All things pass_ , her mother had often liked to say, meaning trials and tribulations. But good things, too. The orphans' visit to the museum must have, for a hush had descended over the building.

Her breath caught in her chest, heart hammering as though she were about to make a confession.

She felt Obi-Wan’s hand slip into hers, gently at first, but then he pulled her into him and kissed her, hard, fingers threading into her hair, leaving her powerless to do anything but kiss him back.

" _Ahem_."

Obi-Wan made a low sound that had nothing to with krayt impressions as he pulled back, disentangling his fingers from her hair. She smoothed it back into place as she turned to see the curator.

"Have you seen our most recent acquisition?" he asked, gesturing to a doorway off to his left. “I believe you'll find it interesting." As they approached, he extended his hand. "Forgive me, I failed to introduce myself properly when you arrived. Lilas Dinhint."

Sabé didn't particularly care to shake his hand, but he left little choice. His skin was too soft, nails manicured. Right for his line of work, and not uncommon for the upper classes of Naboo and Coruscant. So why did it bother her? Had she grown so accustomed to her new rough way of life?

She didn't intend to introduce herself until he raised his eyebrows. "And you are…?"

"Is that a Tusken robe?" Obi-Wan asked, stepping around her to enter the closet of a room. He must've sensed her discomfort. Or shared it.

His question successfully distracted Mr. Dinhint from his pursuit of their names, who clearly cared more about showing off his own knowledge than about meeting people. "It is, indeed." Although he was behind her, Sabé could tell his chest puffed with pride. "I wanted to be sure you didn't leave without seeing it, given your evident, erm, affinity for Sand People."

Sabé looked back at him. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Mr. Dinhint's round grey eyes dropped to her shoulder. "Your cycler rifles, madam. Or didn't you know they were Tusken weapons?"

She reached up to grasp the leather straps. "I should think so, since I killed the Tuskens I took them from."

His mouth opened and closed, mutely, like a fish.

Turning her back on him, she looked at the robe inside the transpariplast display case. The color of sand, it swathed a mannequin, its hem tattered and stained...yet it spiked fear in her. She had the wild thought that the overlong, wrapped sleeves and the leather gloves dangling from their ends might reach for her if she dared to look away. But she couldn't bring herself to look at the bandage-like mask. Not the empty eyes and breathing apparatus that gave the appearance of a wide open maw...Obi-Wan had told her no one knew what sort of creatures the Tuskens were beneath their clothes. The unknown only made them more frightening.

Having apparently recovered, Mr. Dinhint cleared his throat and went on. “Color me impressed! I’ll cut to the chase, then, shall I?”

She was almost grateful when the man’s oily voice drew her back from her anxiety. With men like him there was always a chase to cut to. She drew herself up, preparing.

“I’m looking to expand our collection of Tusken artifacts. Would you be willing to donate your weapons?”

She felt her mouth drop open. “ _Donate_?”

“We are non-profit. This Tusken costume was donated. Anonymously, I should add.”

“These are working rifles. I _use_ them.”

An expression of horror blanched his face--as if she'd announced she ate her meals every day on priceless ancient pottery--but then he recovered his cool sophistication.

“Hm, I see. In that case, I do have a small acquisition fund I might be able to draw from. I’m particularly interested in the weapon with the modified sight--”

“The one that’s most valuable to our family for hunting. Yes. Do go on.”

Beyond Mr. Dinhint’s shoulder Sabé noticed Obi-Wan sauntering away, fingers stroking his mustache, perhaps to hide the grin spreading across his face.

The curator cleared his throat again. “I don’t need to tell you the cultural and historical value of such an item.”

“Get many Tuskens in here, do you?”

“Erm. No. Actually. None, as a matter of fact.”

“You don’t say.”

That was definitely a chuckle from beyond the doorway. Obi-Wan had left her in here to deal with this shark and was _laughing_ about it.

“If I may?”

Mr. Dinhint held out his hands as though she would hand her rifle to him. Sabé stared until he withdrew them.

“Ahem. Well. I might be prepared to offer...say, a hundred druggats?”

Now it was her turn to gape like a fish. A hundred druggats. She doubted it was a fair price, but what couldn’t she and Obi-Wan purchase with that? They could expand their garden, maybe buy another eopie, perhaps a goat…

Or a second vaporator.

Movement caught her eye. Obi-Wan stood just inside the wide arch, a look of concern etched across his brow. He shook his head slightly as though to say, _You don’t need to. We’ll make do._

“I’ll think it over,” she told the curator, and left without taking the card he pulled from a pocket of his long coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [Tatooine Visitors Bureau](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Tatooine_Visitors_Bureau) and the [Museum of Tatooine](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Museum_of_Tatooine) are (or were) real places in the Star Wars universe. Check out the Wookieepedia to view some of the art mentioned in this chapter! The curator, [Lilas Dinhint](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Lilas_Dinhint), is also a real character, but his snooty personality is our own, based on our fancast of Brennan Brown from _The Man in the High Castle_. If you liked all this, there's more Bestine fun to come in Chapter 25. 
> 
> To all our readers celebrating Thanksgiving this week, we wish you all a safe and happy holiday with friends and family. We're so thankful for you all!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Born of Light_ now has a chapter-by-chapter playlist! You can listen on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/mrstater82/playlist/4h5jsxHkMnKCkcLzU4QKfd) or [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5QtpUf096A&list=PLvwW2sysyN6rTg7LnlZknb8yuvGznPCFm) (though one song wasn't available on YouTube). Album art and track listings by chapter available on [Tater's tumblr](http://khaleesa.tumblr.com/post/167833506247/born-of-light-spotify-playlist-for-the). For added fun while you read this chapter, play ["Aces High"](https://open.spotify.com/track/2KIxJ3uVVCFCBdtjLPnzhr) by Ladytron.

"If we go back to the museum first thing in the morning," Sabé said around a bite of jerba slider--the Cheapside Cantina's special of the day--"Dinhint will offer me more for the rifles. I guarantee."

"With your masterful bargaining skills?" replied Obi-Wan. "No doubt." He set his own slider on his plate and swiped a blob of Boontaspice mustard from his mustache with his thumb, then licked it off. "You aren't seriously considering selling?"

He hadn't said a word about the curator's unexpected offer after they left the museum, leaving Sabé to mull it over as they explored Bestine in search of suitably out of the way locations to eat and stay the night. They'd checked into a modest but secure inn where they'd left her rifles and the saddlebags and stabled Nagpal, across the street from a cantina advertising live music. The Barefoot Band hadn't come on stage yet; during the wait, Sabé and Obi-Wan indulged in Tatooine Sunsets while seated at a booth that provided a view of the actual sunset through the open window. A warm breeze ruffled their hair. She turned her face into it as she sipped the sweet drink through a straw and shrugged.

"We could use the money. Especially if…"

_If the future included children._ Or even if it didn't. Two months ago she’d wondered if this was how people fell in love. Now, less than two weeks after the start of their sexual relationship, she wondered how people decided on their next steps, created a family. Was there a timeline to such things? And if so, wasn’t she rushing it?

_You’ve got all the time in the world_ , her father had always said. _Slow down_.

True, they had nothing but time here. And too many wounds to nurse to think of nursing a child. Shaking herself, she returned her attention to the conversation.

"We could expand our garden if we had a second vaporator," she said. "There's so much else we need. Not that I'm not grateful for what we have. It's more than I could've hoped for, after..."

Obi-Wan acknowledged the unspoken with a gentle look before he said, "My house was intended to be a hermitage. It was never supposed to be a home."

Sabé could hear the smile in his voice, and she'd rather look at it than the setting suns in all their glory.

"But we can't ask our benefactor for more," he went on as he resumed eating. "It would attract too much attention to him--as well as to us. Crazy Ben the Hermit can't have a disposable income."

"So I sell the guns," she said, watching him finish off his slider. "We'll have money."

Obi-Wan swallowed. "But then you won't have the guns."

"I'd still have my blaster."

"True."

The unvoiced _but_ hung between them.

Sabé filled in the blanks. "It hasn't the range of the cyclers. I couldn't hunt with it."

"In the long run, what you bring us in fresh meat is more valuable than extra cash. Not to mention the assurance of protection."

Nodding, she took a second slider, and for the next few moments, they ate in silence.

"I could just sell the one."

"But Dinhint was clearly more interested in the one with the modified scope. Your favorite hunting rifle."

"And _you_ gave me the scope for the other one," she said. "A token of your affection." Offered on bended knee, along with his confession of love.

Obi-Wan took a drink. "I'm not sure I can live this down, you know." At the quirk of her eyebrow, he said, "You having a sentimental attachment to a _gun_ because I gave you a part for it."

"Are you sure you're not a bit attached, too? I've seen the look on your face after I make a kill."

As soon as she said it, there it was: a ferocious desire that stoked the same in her. But he quickly closed his lips over his teeth in an innocent smile. "Hunger?"

"That's one way to put it," Sabé replied with a snort of laughter. “All right, so what if I _don’t_ sell him the weapon?"

"Perhaps Mr. Dinhint would be interested in my collection of Jawa artifacts."

"Just because you display your rug beater as wall art doesn't mean it belongs in a museum."

"You know that saying about one Jawa’s trash being another man’s treasure?"

" _Is_ that the saying?"

"Think of the cultural significance of gifts intended to appease an angry wizard." He gestured with his drink. "What we can glean about Jawa spirituality and superstition."

Sabé took another sip of her sunset. "You're not fooling me with your little ploy to get rid of the cleaning droid."

Obi-Wan's face fell, and so did his shoulders. "To think I used to have a reputation for being rather wily."

"But you're dealing with a woman who made everyone, including two Jedi, believe she was the Queen of Naboo."

He couldn't continue the charade of being in a sulk, his laugh mingling with Sabé's.

"We're capable people," she said, leaning back in the booth with her slider and swinging her feet onto the empty space next to Obi-Wan. "Maybe I could hunt more and sell the meat."

"You could offer your services dispatching pests and predators."

“Hm, yes. Or be an itinerant hairdresser?”

“I don’t think I could bear being apart from you for too long,” he said, suddenly serious. “And I’m not sure my skill set would be much appreciated by the populace.”

Before Sabé could reply, the evening’s entertainment entered from a back room and approached the stage, where they picked up the instruments that awaited them on stands. As their name had suggested, the band was indeed barefoot, and while they situated themselves and tuned up, she noticed that their feet were absolutely filthy. She had to look away to stifle a burst of laughter.

As the band continued their warm-up and the sound man in the corner adjusted settings, more patrons trickled into the cantina.

“Popular band,” she commented.

"With fans undeterred by foot odor," Obi-Wan added, until  they saw that, one by one, each new guest went to the bar and plunked down money, leaning close to the barman to mutter something, which he in turn recorded on a datapad. "Or perhaps not here for the band at all. It would seem we're not the only people in Bestine who want to make a few extra druggats."

"Should we get in on this?" Sabé asked. "Whatever this is?"

She scanned the cantina and noticed a sign behind the bar: _First Benduday each month: Competitive Sabacc, Fire-Water Contest (NO LONGER SIMULTANEOUS, CHOOSE ONE, CASH UP FRONT)_. Beneath that hung a second, handwritten notice that appeared freshly tacked up: _Bartender’s choice: Starshine Surprise_.

"Doesn't this strike you as terribly coincidental when we were just discussing our financial woes?"

"Haven't I told you how I feel about coincidences?" Obi-Wan replied. "Clearly, this is the will of the Force."

“Huh. I’m tempted to sit it out now, just to defy its will.”

“Then _that_ would be the will of the Force,” he said with a grin.

“See, this is why I’m not religious.”

Obi-Wan drained the rest of his Sunrise, wolfed down another slider, and then, rising together, they approached the bar, digging into pockets and shooting grins at each other. They’d barely vacated the booth before a clutch of customers, drinks in hand, slid into it.

“I can’t resist,” Sabé said to the barman, a Klatooinian who barely afforded her a glance. She felt the eyes of many patrons on her, sizing her up. She smiled nervously. “I’m in town for a night. Got to rub shoulders with the locals, as they say. Erm, how many credits for sabacc?”

“Druggats,” the bartender grunted. “Minimum ten.”

“Oh.” She plastered on a crestfallen look, but quickly replaced it with resolution and a sunny smile. “Well, when in Coruscant. Here you go!”

"This is Bestine," said the bartender, counting out a stack of chips.

“Right you are!” She beamed.

“Name?”

“Call me Mrs. K.”

She glanced at Obi-Wan and saw the beginnings of a grin she knew would stretch from cheek to cheek, when a woman with cropped white hair and pale tattooed skin sauntered up to the bar beside him.

"Well, hello there," she greeted in a smoky voice.

"Erm--hello?"

"I'll ante up if you go down," she said.

Sabé's jaw dropped at the brazenness of it. Just enough of Obi-Wan's face showed over the woman's shoulder for her to see it had gone violently red.

"That's flattering, but I'm _Mr._ K."

The pale head turned and she swept Sabé with her gaze. "Mrs. K can come along, too. I mean that sincerely."

“Move along, dollface,” said the barman as he pushed Sabé’s chips toward her. “If Dink comes in here, he won’t be happy to see you trying to pick up strangers again.”

The woman actually hissed, but spared another lascivious look for Obi-Wan as she slithered past him.

Obi-Wan, still red-faced but recovering, pretended to stumble over a barstool as he stepped up to plonk his money on the counter. "Give my bride another five, will you? And you can put me down for the drinking contest. Nothing like a good Shinestar Surprise."

The surprise was all Sabé's. She'd assumed he meant to play sabacc, too.

"Starshine," corrected the bartender. "It's not a drink many of your kind can handle. You're two sheets to the wind from just one Sunset."

"Assure you," Obi-Wan slurred, pushing the druggats to the edge of the counter, " _my kind_ handle liquor just fine."

“Darling...” said Sabé in a wary tone, though inwardly she was already counting their winnings as she recalled how irritatingly not-hungover he'd been after the night they'd spent drinking with Sim and Mari.

Obi-Wan shot up a hand. “Not to worry.”

She collected her chips and they looked away from each other quickly so as not to give away the game.

With a shake of his head and a muttered “Your funeral,” the bartender took the money and gestured for Obi-Wan to take a seat at a table where empty shot glasses were lined up like soldiers awaiting orders. He made a great show of shrugging out of his sleeveless cloak, getting his arms tangled up in it before violently shucking it to the floor. Meanwhile, other contestants joined him: a four-eyed tusked Aqualish, an Ishi Tib who, from his clothes, looked likely to be a bounty hunter, and a hulking Gamorrean.

A second man behind the bar took bets from the spectators. He gestured Sabé toward another table, where she sat primly with her competitors, a seedy-looking crew if she’d ever seen one. She smiled at a skimpily dressed human woman with dark hair, bobbed at her chin, and a straight fringe.

"Ooh, I should cut my hair like yours," Sabé gushed. "And that is a beautiful ring!" she added, noting the large gemstone glittering on her left hand.

"My engagement ring." She gazed across the table at a potbellied, mustachioed, violet-skinned Ryn, put black painted nails to her red lips, and blew a kiss. He caught it in the tuft of a prehensile tail, pressed it to his heart, and smiled at her beneath the drooping mustache.

Trying not to blink at this odd couple and their even odder sweetness, Sabé said, "I'm a newlywed myself."

"So we heard," the woman said, "Mrs. K."

The Sullustan across from Sabé sighed loudly. “Cut the chit chat.”

Sabé widened her eyes and feigned insult, but said nothing as she organized her stacks of sabacc chips by color on the table in front of her. She was glad her seat afforded a decent view of Obi-Wan, but he studiously avoided her gaze as he took his time pulling his hair back into its band again, and not doing a very good job of it.

Pursing her lips in pretend judgment, she turned back to her table, where a Bith went over the house rules. He'd scarcely finished when the Barefoot Band struck up their first tune, horns wailing over the noise of the crowd. A Twi'lek barmaid poured the first round of shots, and the sabacc players pushed piles of chips forward in their first round of bets.

Now that the game had begun, the couple’s sweetness dissolved into stonefaced resolve. As gently as the man regarded his betrothed, his gaze turned to durasteel when he looked at his cards. The Sullustan was easier to read than the woman, so Sabé kept her attention on him, though every now and then she stole glances at Obi-Wan, who appeared to sway a bit more with each shot. The crowd cheered loudly for the Gamorrean, a local fellow from the sound of their shouts. His size alone put him at an advantage. They all dwarfed Obi-Wan.

“Look at this skinny human,” a Duros in the crowd called. “Last time we had a human this stupid in here was three years ago. They had to pump his stomach.”

“And I had to renovate the bar,” shot back the bartender, pointing a thick green finger. “So take your fight outside this time, Linu.”

Renovations aside, apparently the spectacle was good for business, as bystanders bought more drinks while they added money to the pot.

"I told him not to enter," Sabé said, letting her voice quaver. "If he gets alcohol poisoning on our honeymoon…" She placed her cards in the suspension field, and her opponents broke out in groans and curses. "Oh! Did I just win?"

" _This_ hand," said the other woman while the Bith gathered up the cards and shuffled them.

"Beginner’s luck," Sabé said. "Ben! I won the first hand! I'm not even sure what I'm doing!"

He grinned and raised his next shot glass to her in salute, then knocked it back. The noise level swelled, both onstage and off, until the Ishi Tib's head thumped against the table and the glass shattered on the floor.

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment, then grinned at the Aqualish and the Gamorrean. "And then there were three. Gentlemen?"

The Sullustan won the next hand, Sabé the one after that. Sweat broke out on the mustachioed Ryn's forehead, and he shot nervous glances at his beloved. In turn, she glared at Sabé as if she meant to steal the couple’s retirement fund.

Meanwhile, at the other table, the Aqualish fell off his chair and had to be carried out by two of his friends. Obi-Wan now sat taller and tossed his unkempt hair back, as poised as she’d ever seen him, while the Gamorrean narrowed his piglike eyes.

"I bet on your fella," the human woman said, sweeping her bangs off her forehead.

"You got great instincts, baby," said her betrothed, and she rewarded him with a lovely smile.

They were cute, in such a strange way. Sabé almost hated to beat them. _Almost_.

But when the next two hands were won in turn by the woman and the Ryn, _Sabé_ began to sweat. Her chips were dwindling. If she lost Obi-Wan’s fifteen druggats, she’d have to return to the museum tomorrow whether she wanted to or not.

And the Gamorrean wasn’t about to lose to a scrawny male human. The drinks kept coming, and Obi-Wan kept downing them. A fight nearly broke out when a few who'd bet against him--and had rather too much to drink themselves--began to protest that he had to be cheating, somehow.

"He ain't even wobbly," someone observed during the band’s set break, which became an interval to let the alcohol take full effect. Obi-Wan got up to see how the sabacc was getting on. The Gamorrean, on the other hand, seemed to be fighting to stay upright in his seat.

"Keep your poodoo together, mate," another Gamorrean urged, slapping him on the back.

“Last round of bets!” called the bartender.

Obi-Wan lurched back to his seat, and the crowd swarmed to the bar, some of them doubling down against the human’s chances. As Sabé watched him settle in, his eyes unfocused for a split second before a long blink, and she wasn’t entirely certain that was part of the act. Hopefully _he_ wouldn't have to be carried to their motel room at the end of the night.

Sim's voice drifted through her mind-- _I wouldn't have taken you for a drinker_ \--and she imagined telling their friends about this night next time they were all together. _Fortunately, Ben's life in the church prepared him for this._ She smirked before she could stifle it, but this worked to her advantage, as her opponents clearly thought her concentration had broken.The engaged couple appeared less strained, exchanging affectionate glances across the table--and occasionally beneath it, the prehensile tail bumped against the other players' legs as it flicked out to stroke the woman's ankle or thigh.  

Soon into the next hand the Sullustan folded. He returned solemnly to the bar to exchange his few remaining chips for druggats, then he drifted from the cantina without a word. Sabé smiled at her competitors on either side, but the woman kept an icy gaze on the suspension field, and the man cleared his throat as he drew his attention back to his cards.

At Obi-Wan’s table the drinks came at greater intervals, perhaps in the barman’s hopes that one of the drinkers would at last pass out. Eyeing his depleted bottles and his increasingly drunk and belligerent patrons, he might’ve regretted allowing this human a place in the contest, but it was too late now. With all the money in the pot, they had to see it through.

The band began their second set, and soon it became increasingly difficult for Sabé to focus on sabacc as not one but _two_ more fights broke out behind her and had to be broken up by the cantina’s bouncers. Fortunately, the sabacc would be over, one way or another, very soon. She had first bid, confident in her own hand. The Ryn folded, but it had long been apparent that he and his bride-to-be weren't playing against each other so much as doubling their chances of a win. She went all in. Sabé raised her eyebrows, but the other woman's face remained neutral, except for that flash in her eyes as they met her intended's. Holding her breath, Sabé placed her cards in the suspension field at the same moment as her opponent.

Both hands totalled twenty-one.

"Sudden Demise!" called out the Bith, and the onlookers erupted, rushing over from the drinking contest table as he dealt out another card to each of them.

Sabé looked in Obi-Wan's direction, not expecting to see him with so many people crowding around, but the blue of his eyes drew her to where he peered over the shoulders of two other patrons. They were about to find out the will of the Force.

She could hardly believe the sight that greeted her in the suspension field.

"And the winner is....Mrs. K! Mrs. K with a cool twenty-three, ladies and gents and all sentient citizens!" The crowd bellowed, some clapping each other on the back, even as yet another pair of patrons started pounding on each other.

"Kriff," muttered the other woman, who'd bombed out with a five.

"It's okay, babe," the man consoled her, though his mustache drooped. "You played great. Just wasn't in the cards. We'll still get to Cloud City."

"I hope you do," Sabé told them, breathlessly. She quickly counted her chips before scooping them up. Stars...she'd won back the fifteen druggats she'd paid in, plus another two hundred. Even if Obi-Wan lost, they'd still walk away with more than she'd be able to haggle for _both_ rifles, never mind one…

The Bith helped her take her winnings to the counter and then nudged her to go watch her husband while he cashed her out. She made certain he logged the correct amount on his datapad before she went off to stand behind Obi-Wan's chair.

Over the thrill of her pounding heart, she steadied herself to watch the Gamorrean, who now breathed heavily through his snout. His dusky face was flushed, and he held both sides of the table as if to keep himself from toppling over, his small eyes blinking blearily at Obi-Wan.

"Come on, quit while you're ahead," said an onlooker at one shoulder. "Inga won't be pleased if you black out in one more drinking contest."

"Inga's not gonna be pleased at the state he'll be in regardless," countered the drinker’s Gamorrean friend on the other side. "Might as well have something to show for it."

"I don't think your friend's offering very sage advice," Obi-Wan said as the Twi'lek barmaid poured another shot for each of them.

"You would think that," snorted the Gamorrean not involved in the contest; the one across the table looked unlikely to understand what was being said, let alone speak himself. “Griff hasn’t lost a drinking contest in six years.”

“Griff, is it?” said Obi-Wan. “Griff, you’re not going to make old bones at this rate, my friend.”

Griff's meaty hand closed around the tiny glass. Lifted it unsteadily. Drank most of it, though a dribble ran from one side of his fanged mouth.

Obi-Wan raised his shot glass in toast and tossed it back, setting it down on the table with a flourish. He then leaned back in his chair so that it tipped on the back two legs, crossed his arms and swung his boots up on the table.

The Gamorrean vomited on the floor.

The crowd darted backward from him, some dashing outside to empty their own stomachs, others not making it quite far enough. The bartender, initially frozen behind the counter, snapped out of it, shouting and pointing to the ‘freshers. Griff slid from his chair into the pool of foul-smelling filth while his friend slipped in it as he tried to turn Griff’s head to one side to prevent aspiration. Over his shoulder, Sabé saw Obi-Wan flick his fingers, and Griff's body rolled, as if by its own accord. Though still unconscious, he vomited again.

She wrapped her arms around Obi-Wan's neck and brushed her lips to his cheek; the stench of the liquor on his breath almost turned _her_ stomach. "You're not going to wind up on the floor, are you?" she murmured in his ear.

"Why do you think I haven't stood up to celebrate my victory?"

"Humility, I assumed."

"Yes, we'll go with that. I'll be fine in a moment."

“I’ll get you some water. And more sliders to go.”

While she waited for the order and Obi-Wan used the Force to...do whatever magic the Force did against extreme intoxication, Sabé collected their winnings. Her two hundred plus--she counted--four hundred more. Apparently no one but the female sabacc player thought Obi-Wan would win. As the dark-haired woman tucked her winnings away in a furry purse, she gave Sabé a nod, then turned to take her man’s arm and they sauntered out into the night, his tufted tail swishing.

By the time she returned to Obi-Wan, he'd recovered enough to move from his chair. He crouched beside Griff--the Twi'lek barmaid had mopped up the vomit--and she caught him speaking in the low soothing tones that had reached through her fever dreams. "You'll wake up in the morning and say _never again_. And you'll mean it, this time. You'll do it for Inga."

"Fr'Inga," the Gamorrean groaned. Obi-Wan must've used the Force to relieve some of his drunkenness, too, at least to rouse him to consciousness.

As Obi-Wan pushed to his feet, Sabé held up a greasy paper sack. "It seems you don't need the sliders after all."

“Sliders won’t hurt,” he murmured as he wrapped arms around her and swept her, giggling, off her feet in a twirl. When he set her on the floor again, she realized the barman and all the remaining customers, and even the band had stopped to stare in disbelief.

“We’d best get going,” she whispered.

~*~

The suns didn't feel so relentless on the final day of the journey. Whether this was due to an actual break in the heat, or to her own state of mind, Sabé didn't know. Didn't care. All that mattered was that soon she and Obi-Wan would be home, and they had more blessings to count when they got there. Six hundred blessings, to be exact, weighing down the saddlebags, but Nagpal didn't seem burdened by the extra druggats. He jogged along as though buoyed by the joy that bubbled in his two riders. Or perhaps it was that he liked their suggestion of a companion to share the eopie pen.

She giggled. She'd been doing that rather a lot today, and what a sight it must be, a woman with two Tusken cycler rifles strapped to her back, intermittently piercing the desert stillness with peals of laughter. _Spacer Sabé._ Obi-Wan didn't even need to ask what she found so amusing. He simply chuckled along with her until the fit subsided enough for her to speak.

"Have you told Qui-Gon about our winning night?"

"Darling, Qui-Gon was _there._ "

Sabé blinked at this revelation, her entire perspective of the night suddenly shifting as she edited her memories to include a translucent blue ghost, as Obi-Wan had described him. Rather like a hologram, without the glitches. She imagined Qui-Gon towering over the drinking contest table, leaning between the other contestants to speak to his former apprentice.

"I take it he doesn't disapprove of how many shots of Starshine Surprise you knocked back?"

"Who do you think taught me how to drink? And to monetize the skill? Every talent has value, and one must value every talent."

For a moment, she wondered if he weren’t trying to pull one over on her, but from what he'd told her of his Master's maverick ways, she could easily imagine the Jedi in a scene very like the one she'd witnessed Obi-Wan in last night.

"Pity those lessons didn't include how to respond to getting propositioned by scantily-clad Dathomirians."

He shuddered against her. "That woman looked alarmingly like someone I used to know."

"Oh? An old flame?" she teased, squeezing his thighs with her knees.

"Definitely not. An old nemesis." He cringed again. "Regardless, I'm not accustomed to being propositioned."

"There must be something different about you now."

Sabé leaned backward for a better view, and Obi-Wan turned so she could see his profile, eyes crinkled, cheeks high, mouth spread wide in a toothy grin.

_He’s happy_.

Planting a hard kiss on his jaw, she squeezed him tight, felt his chuckle rumble low against her breastbone.

_I’m happy, too_.

A lone red bonegnawer soared overhead, a lazy slash in the sky, but she could only smile up at it. How different she and Obi-Wan must appear compared to three months ago. She pulled her scarf over her face, closed her eyes, and surrendered to the rhythm of Nagpal’s easy lope.

An abrupt halt in the motion, and Obi-Wan's back tensing as he sat upright, stirred her from her doze, however long it had lasted. Sabé shoved her scarf back and slid her favorite rifle off her back, cocking it quietly, but a scan of the horizon revealed nothing that she could see.

“Quick, now,” Obi-Wan whispered, and Nagpal’s lope became a trot, then a gallop.

She didn’t have to ask. Home lay straight ahead, over the next rise. Slipping the other strap over her head, she handed Obi-Wan the second rifle. That he took it without hesitation sent a bolt of terror through her, but his hands remained steady as he checked the ammo and cocked it. She thought bleakly of the lightsaber hidden in his trunk.

What danger did he sense? Leaving Bestine, they'd been wary of getting ambushed by bandits or criminals who knew about Mr. and Mrs. K's big win at the cantina, but reckoned that her rifles sent a certain _don't kark with this woman_ message. Sabé didn't have Jedi instincts, but even she knew this wasn't that. Her eyes raked the hillsides for gleams of white Trooper armor amidst the rocks. The Empire might've caught up with them at last. All it would take was one loose tongue wagging in Mos Espa about the hermit who got into the occasional scuffle with Hutt thugs and the junk shop dealer to send an investigation party to the Jundland Wastes…

Before they reached the top of the rise, Sabé's senses were assaulted on all fronts. High-pitched cries, like warriors in battle, rang in her ears. She inhaled, and the stifling scent of the hot desert air turned acrid, the unmistakable odor of something burning. Her eyes watered, and through the stinging haze of it, billowing black clouds of smoke curled upward toward the cloudless sky.

Nagpal stopped and bleated. Obi-Wan tried to quiet the poor frightened animal, but in vain. The battle cries came nearer, joined by lower, trumpeting calls she'd heard before, but couldn't place.

The shot that zinged over her head--that she recognized: a cycler rifle. She raised her own to return fire and saw the eopie shed swallowed up in flame, the vaporator surrounded by banthas and figures dressed in masks and robes like the ones Mr. Dinhint so proudly displayed behind transpariplast in his museum. The Tuskens were trying to pull it down...

She leapt from Nagpal’s back and ran toward the raiding party as Obi-Wan called her name and more shots whizzed past her. A scream pierced the air behind her. She looked back to see Obi-Wan and Nagpal on the ground.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! With _The Last Jedi_ coming out in less than two weeks (*SQUEE*), we've decided to post the final three chapters ahead of schedule. Look for 27 this week and 28 next week. Merry Sithmas. ;)

Obi-Wan had always loved the sound of the rain.

Sitting cross-legged on the wooden porch of a cabin on Algara II, with Qui-Gon, as rain pattered against the slanted tin roof above their heads, with nowhere to be and no one to see, felt as close to serenity as he could imagine. The forest, shrouded in rainfall, was at once ethereal and hyper-real. He could touch it, if he but raised a finger. The lushness he inhaled expanded his lungs, drew out his mind. Even if it wasn’t a particularly Jedi thought, he imagined the woods belonged to him, that all he surveyed became his domain, and he submitted himself to the care of it. Closing his eyes, he gave himself over to the having, and the belonging.

“That’s the torve weed,” said Qui-Gon.

“It’s no such thing.”

He refused, even as he accepted. He might fall asleep.

A nudge, or pressure, on his foot. Was that Qui-Gon? Why wouldn’t he let him meditate? “You don’t want to miss this.”

“Shh.” Maybe the rain said it.

“ _Wake up, Obi-Wan!_ ”

His eyes flew open as guttural cries and a familiar shout sped his heart. A rifle lay three feet from his fingertips. Instinctively, he drew it toward him with the Force and tried to assume a crouch--but his foot was pinned under something.

Nagpal.

A Tusken had shot at them, and Obi-Wan had leapt from the eopie’s back, but his foot remained in the stirrup, lodged between saddle and sand. He pushed with his other leg and disentangled the foot, relieved when his ankle and toes wiggled properly.

Crouching behind Nagpal’s girth-- _later_ , he promised, for the animal was still breathing, _I’ll help him later_ \--he scanned his surroundings. His vision blurred with a pounding in his head; he must’ve hit it on a rock when he fell. If only a concussion were as easily shaken off as intoxication.

A drinking contest, and sabacc. Six hundred druggats. The promise of a new vaporator.

Their garden. Their home. Their future.

_Where was Sabé?_

A sound like a blacksmith working a forge rang out--the Tuskens pounding on the vaporator with their gaderffii sticks to tear it down. Their banthas trumpeted, trampling the broken fence around the burning eopie shed. A glint from above and malevolent intention in the Force were scant warnings, but enough to make Obi-Wan diveroll out of the rooftop sniper’s aim, a heartbeat away from the sand scattered by the slug’s impact.

He twisted onto his back and shot the Raider. It fell backward, then slid off the domed roof like sludge, the weapon still in its dead grip discharging once more when it hit the ground. Another rifle for Sabé.

But still he didn’t see her.

He reached out into the Force. _Train yourself to let go of all you fear to lose_. Yoda's admonition to generations of Jedi came to him, as it had in countless battles.

Obi-Wan's fingers seized into a tight fist. " _No_ ," he gritted through his teeth, and then he felt her: the spike of her fear against the steady determination not to lose another thing. Another person. _Him_. The thought got him to his feet at last. She wouldn't lose him, not today. Nor would he lose her. He released his own fear, but embraced her, and the strength that only love could give.

Rifle cocked and at the ready, he rounded the corner of the house, leaping over the fallen Tusken. There she was, back pressed to the synstone next to the side door as she waited for an opportunity to strike back at their attackers. The sight of her cleared the storm in his head, made the pain recede as the Force swelled within him, unimpeded. _Let go of fear._

"I thought they'd shot you," Sabé choked out, pupils blown wide.

"I know." He didn't tell her he thought they'd hit Napgal instead. Maybe she’d already seen. They couldn't afford to think about that now. About how close they'd come to losing each other. They hadn't lost.

Obi-Wan cast out his senses to assess the situation. The Tuskens seemed concentrated on depriving the homestead of its water supply--for the time being. "We could clear the vaporator if one of us was on the roof."

Sabé blinked, and her eyes glinted with a new focus, narrowing as she turned them upward.

"Cover for me."

She let her rifle hang from its strap and at once found hand and footholds in the cracks of the facade. No sooner had she begun to scale the wall than a Tusken appeared from around the corner, swinging a gaderffii stick. Obi-Wan uncurled two fingers from the trigger and gave them a flick, flinging the Tusken and his weapon backward. There were no cliffsides here to throw them against as there had been in the Draw, so it only bought him time to raise his rifle and aim as the Tusken scrabbled to its feet. A headshot took it right back down.

The blast of gunfire so close to Obi-Wan's ear made the pain from his head injury ricochet around his skull. Releasing the pain with his breath, he looked up to see Sabé swing her heavy boots over the rooftop. He allowed himself a heartbeat of relief; with her lethal aim, she'd pick them off like tin can targets lined up on a fence rail. But while the first lightning crack from her rifle eliminated one more Tusken, the slug passed through him and struck the vaporator with a metallic twang, followed by a hiss of escaping coolant--and it alerted them to her position.

Obi-Wan shouldered his weapon and leapt from the cover of the house, tunic sleeves whipping as he flung arms out wide to scatter the Sand People with a gust of wind. One had mounted a bantha to aim his cycler at Sabé; it lost its seat and was crushed underfoot as the animal reared in terror. The Tuskens bellowed to each other behind their masks, righting themselves. Their tongue was foreign to him, but it was clear they understood he'd felled them with his magic. He stood with arms still spread as half a dozen Raiders, frightened, but no less furious, converging on one Jedi. And he didn't have the high ground.

But fear could make a creature do stupid things, as Obi-Wan saw when one broke ranks, rushed toward Nagpal and hooked a gloved hand through the strap of one of their saddlebags. Another shot from the rooftop, and the Tusken lay unmoving next to the eopie. Sabé stared down for a heartbeat, but there wasn't time for concern, and she pivoted, cocking her rifle to reload

Obi-Wan returned his focus to the remaining Sand People, who’d ducked behind the terrified banthas for cover. Confusion. Pain. Some of them had been injured, whether by Sabé’s slugs or by their own stampeding banthas it was unclear.

Nagpal’s shed still burned, though the roof had long since caved in and the water trough steamed. The smoke burned his eyes and throat. Obi-Wan took advantage of the pause in the fight and, arm extended toward the shed, made a scooping motion with his hand that picked up a load of sand and showered it down on the flames, dousing them. Cries rose up from the Tuskens and banthas, which kicked up their own cloud of dust as they moved away from the house.

_Away from the sorcerer._

When enough distance lay between them, they stopped with garderffii sticks and rifles half-raised, and stared at him through their dark, cylindrical lenses. Sabé had him covered, but nevertheless he was too open.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, and the leftovers stumbled backward in fear, their guttural language hushed and panicked. Experimentally, he stepped toward them. Again a retreat.

Until one Tusken, bleeding at the hip, shambled forward a few steps, hesitated, then moved toward him again. It was unarmed, and he sensed, with a throb deep in his heart, Sabé’s reticence to shoot. The creature scrambled faster as it reached its fallen comrade at the base of the vaporator. It crouched--a wail in the Force from the pain of its injured hip--and dragged the dead body back to the cover of the banthas.

Another Tusken skirted the remains of the eopie pen and retrieved the one who’d tried to steal their saddlebag. After it had reached safety, another came forward, mere feet from where Obi-Wan stood, and took the body next to the house, keeping its head down as though the Jedi weren’t even there.

Obi-Wan imagined the Tusken who’d survived the ambush in the Draw returning, after he and Sabé had departed, to retrieve the bodies of its comrades. Was that creature one of the living or dead here today?

One by one, in silent truce or perhaps in surrender, the Raiders took their dead and laid them across the backs of their banthas. They retrieved their weapons, too, and neither Obi-Wan nor Sabé stopped them. He could only stare mutely while a strange, animal grief overtook him.

_Even here_ , he thought.

A scrabbling sound drew his eye upward, to where Sabé was lowering herself over the edge of the roof. He reached up for her as she clambered down, sweaty and disheveled. Her chest heaved beneath her tunic, but not to catch her breath. Tears streaked down her cheeks as they watched the retreating Tuskens until they and the banthas disappeared below the hillside, their muted calls like low, mournful horns.

"Will they keep away?" Sabé asked. "Will they remember an act of mercy and leave us alone?"

Obi-Wan couldn't speak. She looked up at him, and he shook his head. "I don't know. I doubt it. But. I couldn't finish them."

They'd wanted to honor their dead. Who would've done it if they'd all been killed?

His knees buckled suddenly, and Sabé caught him in her embrace. Her hand cradled the back of his head, fingers raking, and he winced.

“You’re hurt." She drew back her hand, and his blood stained her fingertips. "And Nagpal--"

“We’ve got to patch the vaporator.” They'd be dead if they didn't repair it, whether the Tuskens surrendered or not.

“Sit, I’ll do it.”

He didn’t resist when she led him to the steps where she’d cut his hair and beard. He told her where to find the scrap metal, soldering iron, and coolant, and before he’d finished she’d stepped past him and descended the cellar steps. Through the open door he heard her rummaging around roughly. Soon she emerged with everything strapped to a tool belt--the garden was fine, she told him breathlessly on her way to the vaporator--and he watched as she shimmied up as easily as a Wookiee up a tree.

Something dripped onto the nape of his neck, and when he wiped it, his fingers came away red. Sabé would have to patch him up, too, but the vaporator was more important. Head wounds always bled a lot, often making them look worse than they might be.

But someone else needed help, as well. It might already be too late. Cautiously, Obi-Wan stood. When his vision didn’t swirl, he made his way around the side of the house.

Nagpal lay where he’d been shot, so very still, snout pale...but Obi-Wan sensed his life force, however faint. With deliberate steps he crossed the space, drawing the Force into him as he went. The eopie breathed, just barely, side moving shallowly in and out, a pool of crimson feeding the ground below him.

"Oh, my brave fellow." Obi-Wan went to his knees. Nagpal tried to bleat, but only managed to produce a gurgling sound. His large brown eye looked dull and sad as it hazily tracked the hand that came up to touch the wound in his chest. "Sabé!" Her name tore raggedly from Obi-Wan's throat.

In answer, a soft thump as she dropped to the ground, followed by the crunch of pebbles beneath her boots as she ran to him. Obi-Wan raised his head as she came into view and through his tears saw her stumble a little, a hand come up to cover her mouth.

"No...no, no…"

"We have to say goodbye."

He returned his gaze to Nagpal and only heard Sabé’s sob...but then her knees came into view as she knelt across from him and drew Nagpal’s head onto her lap, stroking his nose and jaw as she spoke to him. Obi-Wan could barely hear the words--apologizing to him and thanking him, or that might have been what he said--and anyway they didn’t matter--only the soothing tone, and the feeling behind them once she’d run out of things to say. He felt the animal calm under her touch.

His own hand still covered Nagpal’s chest, hot blood seeping around his fingers. He couldn’t save him, and couldn’t make the ending happen any faster.

But he could ease his transition.

“ _You are one with the Force, and the Force is with you._ ”

He directed its course as though it were a river, through his hand, into Nagpal’s pain, beyond heart and lungs and mortal flesh...crude matter...until it found its source, atop the highest mountain, where the headwaters flowed clear and fresh and never-ending.

Nagpal drank.

~*~

Earlier today, when they'd had Nagpal to carry them over the parched earth, Tatooine hadn't seemed as hot, as hell-bent on killing them as usual. Now sweat rolled down burning skin, mingled with tears, as Obi-Wan and Sabé toiled beneath the suns, taking it in turns to dig the eopie's grave.

It didn't feel real. The monotony of the work--stabbing the shovel into the ground, scooping out loads of rock and dirt--put him into a trance-like state. Not at all the peace of meditation, but at least it kept him from thinking.

They'd had to talk, before. First, to call Sim and Mari and tell them what had happened and make sure their homestead hadn't been attacked, too. Then, a nightmare conversation as Sabé cleaned and stitched up his head wound about what to do with Nagpal's body. The Brightmoons hadn't wasted the massiff she'd shot, its meat far from choice but nevertheless food, and the Starfalls raised eopies. But this wasn't just any eopie, though a scant few months ago Obi-Wan hadn't given him a name. Perhaps it was wasteful, but such pragmatism didn't bear thinking about. So they'd dropped the conversation, regretting they'd had it at all, and hadn't spoken since.

Sabé had the shovel now, while Obi-Wan paused to drink. The blade stuck on a stone. He watched the muscles flex in her cheek, her forearms, as she bore down to dig it out, then she yielded to it, going limp and leaning her forehead against the handle.

"I was wrong," her voice, muffled in gloved hands, broke the silence. "Having a body to bury doesn't make it any better."  

Obi-Wan swallowed, and the water, no longer cool, hurt going down. He went to her, placed his fingers on her back, though he couldn't imagine what comfort his touch could give. The shovel thumped to the ground as she let go of it, wrapping her arm around his neck to pull her body flush against his, trembling.

"The worst part is I keep thinking about how we need him. We'll have to get another pack animal, or a speeder bike, and that was meant to be our vaporator money. How can I even think that?"

“Because it’s true.” Nagpal had made their lives here possible. Without him, they were stranded. He sighed against her forehead. “To each day its task.”

But was it really necessary for every day to bring one?

In his embrace, her resistance gave way to a sigh of her own. It was too hot to hold each other, but they remained wrapped in each other’s arms until the sound of a speeder beyond the rise made them step apart. Sabé picked up her cycler rifle, but she held it loosely. She knew as well as Obi-Wan whose faces would likely appear.

Mari’s scarf trailed like a banner as they crested the dune and neared the wasted eopie pen. Even from a distance, Obi-Wan could see her furrowed brow, Wulfric’s open mouth. In the rear seat, Dayne had to hold onto Tuva’s shirt to keep her from falling out the side as she gawked. Gunnar, standing in the back, wriggled forward between his mother and brother.

As soon as she killed the engine, Mari leapt from the vehicle and barked commands to her brood, who pulled crates of supplies from the rear storage. She marched straight to Obi-Wan and Sabé, sizing them up as she approached.

“You didn’t have to--” Sabé began.

“Of course we did.” Mari gripped Sabé’s shoulders as though to take stock of her steadiness and stared her full in the face before tugging her into a fierce hug.

Obi-Wan watched as the children, each carrying a crate, traipsed directly into the house. Where was Sim? Before he could ask, a hand on his shoulder pivoted him so that he became Mari’s next object of inspection. But she’d seen the matted hair, and once she’d given him the once-over, she threaded her fingers through the dried, stiff strands.

“Hmm. Good work, Sabé. Nice and clean.”

Her unexpected hug knocked the air out of him. “Oof.”

She stood back to survey the grave and grew quiet. Below her headscarf, her brow furrowed, no doubt thinking it was good meat they planned to bury. Sabé must have interpreted the look the same way, because she said, "I'm not sure if it's customary to bury eopies here, but--"

"We bury the ones we love," Mari said, the lines on her forehead smoothing as she faced Sabé, giving her a small, sympathetic smile before abruptly turning and striding to the speeder. From one of the storage compartments on the side, she took out two shovels, thrusting one at Wulfric, who'd come out of the house.

With the exception of grunts and gasps of exertion, silence enveloped them again as they worked. Three shovels dug the grave much more efficiently, especially as two of the laborers weren't emotionally compromised.

But after they'd lowered the eopie into the ground and stood peering down into it, the other three Starfall kids joining them to pay respects, Obi-Wan saw the oldest boy blinking rapidly. At first he thought Wulfric had dust in his eyes, only to hear a catch in his voice. "I know I made fun of your name, but you were a great eopie."

Unexpectedly moved by the simple eulogy, Obi-Wan added his own. "You carried far more precious cargo than you ever knew." He cast his senses away from the setting suns, toward the distant light in the east, until he felt its small, steady heartbeat.  Relieved, he slipped his arm around Sabé's shoulders, which shook with her sobs.

Mari bent and picked up a handful of dirt. With her thumb, she sifted out the little fragments of pebbles, so that only soil remained. She sprinkled it over Nagpal's body. "You'll nourish the earth, and so live on."

"There's life everywhere," Sabé murmured, and added her own handful of dirt to the grave.

Refilling the grave returned Obi-Wan to that surreal state as dirt and sand covered Nagpal’s face. His attention went rather to the rhythm of the three shovels’ scooping and tossing, a strange music that centered him. It was a smaller thing to focus on, and easier to wrap his mind around, so he embraced it. There was time enough to contemplate this death, and he’d spent so many of his recent years dancing on the edge of it that he felt no compulsion to linger there just now.

When Dayne took the shovel from Wulfric to give him a break, Mari allowed Tuva to take hers. A heartbeat later Gunnar, not to be left out, tugged on Obi-Wan’s cloak and held out his hands. He passed the tool to him and settled on the ground with Sabé, passing a canteen back and forth as they watched the younger children struggle with the task. Gunnar, barely able to lift the shovel, resorted to using the flat back of the blade to shove dirt toward the pit, leaving serpentine trails in the sand as he went. Obi-Wan’s throat tightened as more tears blurred his vision, but these weren’t for Nagpal.

“They’re very brave,” he whispered.

Beside him, Sabé nodded.

At length, Mari and Wulfric relieved the two youngest Starfalls. Their shadows stretched long across the sand as they finished up, leaving a mound of fresh earth rising above the rest of the nondescript yard. Obi-Wan would have to make a marker. Tomorrow's task.

Now, it was time to pick themselves up and go inside. Obi-Wan heaved to his feet, held his hand out to Sabé, and pulled her up. She kept hold of it as they followed the Starfalls into their hovel, where the aroma of stew simmering on the stove greeted them. Dayne must have started it while they dug the grave. He knew better than to say they needn't have cooked for them--for wouldn't he and Sabé have done the same if Sim and Mari called them after a crisis?

"Thank you," he said as he shucked off boots and cloak. "That smells delicious, Dayne."

She blushed.

"Where's Sim?" Sabé asked.

"He should be here soon," Mari replied.

"I always wanted to see your house," Gunnar said, hopping over the step into the living room. "Is this the whole thing?"

"Shut up, stupid!" Tuva shoved him.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Being rude!" Tuva gave him another shove.

"I just meant it's kinda small--"

"Gunnar!" Mari chided, clearly mortified.

But Obi-Wan laughed, a chuckle that swelled into a chortle from his belly until he had to sit down on the trunk. Through tears of mirth, he saw the kids dart glances at him and each other and their mother--Barvy Ben was at it again--until he got control of himself.

"No offence taken," he said, wiping his eyes. "It _is_ small."

Gunnar shot Tuva a vindicated look.

"But there's a cellar," Sabé said.

"Do I finally get to see your garden?" Mari asked as she pulled a small potted seedling from one of the crates on the kitchen floor.

Sabé led her downstairs, leaving Obi-Wan to watch the two younger children pull the rug beater off the wall and start swatting each other with it, sending clouds of dust floating through the air. _Life goes on_ , he reminded himself with another chuckle, until he had to use the Force to keep an empty wine bottle they'd saved to use as a vase from falling and breaking.

A scream sent a jolt of panic up his spine, but it was only Tuva, pointing at the many-legged cleaning droid.

Gunnar snatched it up. “Can we play with this--”

“No.” Obi-Wan took it from his grasp and placed it on one of the high window sills. The children could reach it, but the symbolic gesture made his point. Still, to hammer it home, he added, “The batteries are dead.”

The sabacc cards lay in their box on the display table near the front door. He’d grabbed them and was about to offer to teach the kids to play when Gunnar, who now stood on Obi-Wan’s trunk to examine the spidery droid, shouted, “Dad’s here! With the surprise!”

He and Tuva ran to the side door and were outside before Obi-Wan could question them. He looked to Dayne, who stirred the pot while Wulfric assembled Obi-Wan’s meager collection of spoons, bowls, and mugs, but she only smiled and shrugged as if to say, _Go see for yourself_.

Sabé was just coming up from the cellar, Mari close behind wearing exactly the same scheming expression as Dayne, when Obi-Wan went to the hall to put his boots back on.

"The garden's really impressive," she said, "especially now that you've got a torve weed seedling."

His eyebrows rose, followed by his cheeks in a grin. "The one crop we were lacking," he said as he pushed the door open for Sabé.

They went around to the eastern side of the house, where they found Sim tethering the eopie he'd ridden in the patch of shade while Gunnar hung onto his leg and Tuva waved away the flying insects attracted by the beast’s sweat and pungence. Obi-Wan heard Sabé's sharp intake of breath, and his own caught at the sight of another eopie so soon after they'd buried their own.

"How are you?" Sim asked, approaching with an outstretched hand.

"Better, thanks to your family," Obi-Wan replied as he took it, surprised once more--though he shouldn't have been--when Sim tugged him in for a quick hug and a firm pat on the back.

"We were lucky," said Sabé as Sim hugged her, too.

"Yeah, you definitely were." His eyes darted past her to Mari--who carried a bowl of water for the animal--before he drew back and looked Sabé in the eyes. "I'm really sorry about Nagpal. I know how attached you were."

She tried to smile, but her chin quavered and she pressed her lips together to contain a sob.

"Hope it's not too soon," Sim went on as he gestured to the eopie rooting at a scrubby clump of weeds growing out from beneath the house, "but you can't get by without transport so I brought her for you."

After all that had occurred in the past few hours, in addition to the day's ride from Bestine, Obi-Wan was a little slow on the uptake. The _eopie_ was the surprise Gunnar mentioned. It-- _she_ \--raised her head, jaws working the tough vegetation as she blinked lazily at Sabé, who approached her with tentative footsteps.

"It didn't occur to me you might have an eopie to sell us," Obi-Wan said as he moved closer to inspect the animal. She was a little smaller than Nagpal, and younger, too, if he guessed. Just as smelly, though. "We fortunately just came into some money--"

"Oh, we're not selling her to you," Mari cut him off.

Obi-Wan and Sabé looked at each other, and he saw his own surprise mirrored in her face. “We couldn’t--”

"Are you kidding?" Sim said. "We don't want your money, Ben. Eopies are the one thing we have more than enough of. Friends, on the other hand…" He grinned at Sabé as the eopie nuzzled her hand--clearly, an intelligent animal, and a good judge of character. "Those are harder to come by out here. We're just thankful we've still got you."

Obi-Wan doubted very much that anyone as generous as the Starfalls had a shortage of friends. It was an honor to be counted among them. Once more, he heard himself choking out his thanks while Sim, blushing, muttered something about being even now for the repulsorlift Obi-Wan had brought them.

"So what are you going to name her?" Wulfric had come out. He gave his shaggy hair a little toss and grinned cheekily.

The image flashed through Obi-Wan's memory of Luke running to her with his little wooden animals and asking, _"Name?"_

Sabé considered, long fingers stroking her snout. At length, she said, "Mitali. It means _friendly_."

Sim chuckled.

"No?" Sabé said, looking a little crestfallen.

"It's great," he replied. "Very apt, actually. Mitali. I think Mari brought an awning you can use until the barn's rebuilt."

The younger Starfalls found a scorpion to poke at near the edge of the yard while their parents attached the temporary sun shelter to the side of the synstone, insisting on returning tomorrow to help their friends rebuild the trampled fence and the burned barn. Even as his eyes moistened again, Obi-Wan knew better than to argue.

“Soup's on!” Dayne’s voice hollered from the doorway, tugging him from his emotion.

With the adults seated on the bed and two chairs drawn up to the round table and the children in the middle on the rug, somehow everyone fit into the small living space. Their body heat made it cozy even without the space heater. There was enough stew for those with mugs to help themselves to seconds, and even the adults went back for more, until they'd emptied the pot. Obi-Wan offered the sabacc deck to Sabé, and she taught Gunnar and Tuva the basics of the game while Dayne and Wulfric cleaned up. Mari retrieved a bottle of red from one of the boxes they’d brought and proceeded to pour.

When all four of the children had descended to the cellar to play cards and Sabé resumed her seat beside Obi-Wan on the bed, Sim lifted his glass.

“To the survivors,” he said, and though his tone remained light, the look of solemn gratitude told Obi-Wan that this was more than a toast. A prayer, perhaps, or as much of one as Simuel Starfall was likely to utter.

Obi-Wan, Sabé, and Mari raised their cups and drank with him. Silence followed.

Until Mari voiced what Sim wouldn’t. “I’ve never heard of anyone surviving a raiding party.”

Obi-Wan took another sip, glancing sideways at a pale Sabé as he lowered his drink. “Neither had I,” he confessed.

The unspoken _how_ hung in the air between them, but the Starfalls wouldn’t ask. Instead, they stared at him with an unsettled look--fear?--as though he were lying, or mad. Barvy Ben. Well, he couldn’t blame them. No one lived to tell the tale of a Tusken attack. He turned his gaze toward Sabé, who watched their friends with a calculating look. Perhaps he could point out that they had two Tusken rifles, after all, which helped their odds...but then he’d have to explain where the bodies had gone, or why they hadn’t burned them.

He kept his mouth shut and drank. When Mari refilled his glass, he said, "I can't fully comprehend what happened. Or even begin to."

She held his eye. "You don't have to tell us."

"We're your friends, no matter what," Sim agreed. He set down his cup rather firmly on the table. "We have no love for Tuskens."

"That may sound harsh," Mari said, pouring more wine for him, "but that's life in the Wastes. I don't lose sleep over a few less Sand People who'd murder us and burn our homestead to the ground without a second thought."

Obi-Wan nodded, not because he agreed, though he didn't _dis_ agree, either. Not entirely. "I saw a glimmer."

"Of what?" Mari asked.

He shook his head, slowly. He didn't know. No doubt he'd be meditating on it for some time.

They drank and found firm footing once more in conversation about growing vegetables, which led to Sabé mentioning their expansion plans once they got a second vaporator.

"Oh, yeah," said Sim, leaning back in his chair and scrubbing his fingers through his hair. "Ben mentioned coming into some money?"

A grin stretched Obi-Wan's cheeks as he looked to Sabé. "Your children just learned to play sabacc from the Cheapside Cantina Competitive Sabacc champion."

Mari choked on her wine laughing, while Sim deadpanned, "Good. Now they can finally start earning their keep." He went on. "Seriously? In Bestine? That's amazing."

"Ben neglected to mention he was the night's big winner in the Fire-Water Contest." Sabé's dimples flashed at Obi-Wan. "How many Starshine Surprises did you down?"

"I lost count." True, from a certain point of view. At one point he had.

"Enough to put a Gamorrean under the table," Sabé said.

Sim gawped. “Remind me not to try to keep up with you tonight.”

But Mari repoured for Obi-Wan and Sabé and said, "So my plan to get you drunk after your stressful day isn't going to work, is it?"  

"I'm not trying to win any contests," he replied, chuckling, "so maybe it will."

"My head's swimming a little," Sabé admitted as she scooted back to lean against the curved wall. "Speaking of swimming, have you been to Motesta Oasis?"

Settling back in her chair again, Mari looked at Sim, exchanging reminiscing smiles. "Not in ages."

"Before kids," Sim added, with a twitch of his eyebrows.

“Are the Brightmoons well?” Mari asked. At Sabé’s affirmation, she went on. “For two people who were the picture of discretion, they somehow managed to find out a lot about us.”

Sim laughed. “They don’t know our names, but they know when and how we met. And when we decided to get married.”

“Funny,” Sabé said with a faraway smile. “I think they figured that out with us, too.”

“You--wait, what?” Sim leaned forward. “You’re--”

“Married,” said Obi-Wan. “And the Brightmoons were the first to know.”

For as cautious as Mari had warned Sabé to be not so long ago, she let out a whoop now. Apparently Obi-Wan had passed whatever test she had in mind. Or she’d decided not to let his strangeness bother her anymore.

“Congratulations!” she beamed, eyes shining at both of them. But then she drew herself up with a glare of mock reproach. “Why didn’t you invite us?”

“We didn’t exactly have a ceremony,” Sabé explained, darting a look at Obi-Wan. “We just sort of...decided.”

"Sounds familiar," said Sim, grinning at Mari, who nodded emphatically.

"You just _decided_ , too?" Sabé asked.

"Well, there's no religious marriage out here," Mari said.

"Maybe the Krayt Cult has a ceremony," Sim said, rubbing his jaw and darting a mischievous look at Obi-Wan, who snorted into his cup. "And no one really bothers with the legal side. People do their own thing."

"We always said we'd have a party and exchange vows," Mari added, "but we were always busy with the farm. Then Wulfie came, and then Dayne...and we just never got around to it."

“The days are long, the years are short,” said Sim in a tone that told Obi-Wan this was something he quoted often. “Time goes faster after you have kids.”

Another silence enveloped the group, but these unasked questions quivered, like a child’s laugh, innocent and guileless. Obi-Wan thought of the contraceptive tea that still sat, unopened, on the pantry shelf, but when he turned his head toward it, his eyes found Sabé’s.

A flush bloomed over his entire body, so that he had to look away from Sabé’s reddening cheeks. He’d no sooner looked into his empty cup than Mari had refilled it again. He didn’t miss the sideways grin she gave him before she sat back down.

Was he so transparent? And how did people like the Brightmoons and the Starfalls seem to see the future long before he could?

_Was_ this the future?

“I’d better slow down,” Sabé was saying as the lip of the wine bottle hovered over her cup once more, “if I’m going to hammer nails into wood tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you all stay the night?” asked Obi-Wan. “Unless you have deliveries in the morning?”

"Not tomorrow," Sim replied. "It'll make it easier to give you a lift into town if there's anything you need for your repairs."

They all rose, a little unsteadily, from their seats to collect blankets for makeshift beds. When Obi-Wan apologized for the tight quarters in the cellar for the kids, none of them seemed to mind. Least of all Gunnar, despite his earlier remark about the size of the house.

"It's like camping in the jungle!" he said as he burrowed down between Tuva and Wulfric, looking up at the garden towers. "I always wanted to do that."

"Hmm," Obi-Wan said. "Real jungles aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"You've been to a jungle?" Gunnar's head popped up as he leaned on his elbows.

"Several, in fact."

"Really? Where?"

Obi-Wan merely grinned and mounted the stairs. "Stories for another time, young one."


	27. Chapter 27

_Many hands make light work_ , Sabé’s father had often quipped, and it was true. She and Obi-Wan and the Starfalls made an early start of the repairs, nibbling on bread and fruit and frightening off some scorpions as they threw wide the side door before dawn. They salvaged some wood from the cellar storage and managed to rebuild half the barn, while Dayne, Gunnar, and Tuva dragged the burnt pieces some distance away; the Jawas might find something there worth scavenging. Meanwhile, Sim and Wulfric drove  the speeder into Mos Espa to find a few more pieces of wood and scrap tin for a roof, plus a new cooling bar that Mari noticed had been pulled from the vaporator.

By midday, the blistering suns forced everyone who'd stayed behind to seek shelter, either inside or under the temporary fabric shade with Mitali. Obi-Wan volunteered to supervise the younger children, who were undaunted by the heat and wanted to play outside while they waited for their father to return. Dayne went to the kitchen to put away the morning’s dishes, and Mari joined Sabé in the cellar as she checked the garden and removed the clothes from their trip to the Lars homestead from the sonic laundry unit. She dumped the pile onto the table for folding.

Mari was a whiz at this particular chore, lying each item of clothing flat against her chest to fold and _flip-flip-flop_ , half of them were neatly stacked on the one clean spot on the workbench.

“ _How_ do you...?”

The other woman chuckled. “Self-preservation. I’d’ve been buried under mountains of laundry long ago if I hadn’t figured out a faster way to process it all.”

“I swear to you, I’ll teach you to shoot a target from fifty paces if you teach me that.”

Mari did, though the shooting would have to wait for another day. Sabé admitted that the thought of showing her the correct way to use a firearm thrilled her, particularly because she had so much to learn from the Tatooine native. The scales were still unbalanced, but she could help the Starfalls in that small way, perhaps in others.

"Believe me, you're way ahead of me when I first moved out here with Sim," Mari told her as Sabé compared their respective stacks and found hers only slightly less tidily folded. "I was handy with the vaporators, but I was such a city girl." The creases at the corners of her eyes deepened with her grin. "If a woman from Coruscant would consider a woman from Mos Espa a city girl."

They laughed together, but when it quieted Mari became serious. "Sabé, I owe you an apology."

Sabé felt her brows pull together. "Whatever for?"

She'd never seen Mari look so uncertain as she did now, glancing away and tucking a strand of fallen hair back into the bun at her nape. Her cheeks flushed beneath the freckles, and not from the warm humidity of the cellar garden.

"You never know what another person's been through," she said. "Or _is going_ through." Meeting Sabé's eye, Mari went on. "I still don't know what happened to you and Ben, but I judged him unfairly. He's a good man. Good for _you_. I'm happy for you, truly--and I'm sorry I stuck my nose in your business."

Sabé shook her head. "For all you knew of either of us, you had every right to worry. I wasn't well. Ben was...a little weird." How many times had _she_ questioned Obi-Wan's sanity? Her own? "You weren't wrong to tell me to be careful. That's what friends do."

She tried not to think of  how she ought to have warned Padmé about Anakin, if only she could have known.

"I was just glad to have a friend," Sabé added. "It had been so long."

Relief washed over Mari's face with her smile. "All the same, I promise not to be your nosy neighbor."

That settled, they carried the laundry upstairs. Sabé went to put it away while Mari lingered in the hall to peer through the side door window.

“Bless him!” Her voice reached Sabé in the refresher, where she placed their sleep clothes on the shelves. “He’s playing chase with those two. In the heat of the day. I’ll have to call them in for a drink.”

When Sabé returned, Mari faced her. “Do you think you’ll have kids?”

Laughter rippled out. “So much for not being nosy.” At Mari’s blanched expression, Sabé hurriedly added, “I’m kidding.”

“No, no, you’re right. I’m nosy. I’ve got nothing better to do, to be honest.” An impish grin crinkled her eyes as she joined Sabé, who’d started water boiling in the tiny kitchen. “Well?”

Now Sabé guffawed. “ _To be honest_ ,” she echoed, “Ben and I haven’t really discussed it yet.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she could see from Mari’s expression that her own feelings on the matter were written as plain as day.

“It’s never easy,” Mari said. “But I guess you knew that.”

Sabé nodded. She glanced at Dayne, who'd plopped herself in the chair next to the bed and put her feet up as she sipped a glass of water. She’d found _Kiss of the Krayt_ and had started reading it, eyes darting quickly across each screen before paging ahead.

Seeing where Sabé’s gaze had landed, Mari added, “Don’t worry, Dayne knows all about childbirth in the Wastes. She was five when Gunnar was born. She did her best to help. Didn’t you?”

“I was too young to be scared," Dayne said, glancing up at Sabé.  "Now I know.” She lowered her eyes to the holobook again.

Mari watched her daughter for a moment, before she continued, quieter, "I had a miscarriage after Gunnar."

Having just taken down two mugs from the shelf, Sabé held them against her chest as she turned toward her friend. Mari wanted more children?

"I lost a baby before Wulfric, and after Dayne, too."

Sabé thought of Beru Lars’ difficulty having children of her own. The childless Brightmoons.

"Is it common here?" she asked, placing the mugs on the counter.

"I don't know if it's any more so than elsewhere in the galaxy," Mari replied. "But yes. I thank my stars I've never had a stillbirth."

For several moments, the only sounds were of the kettle creaking as the water neared its boiling point, and of Sabé taking the tea tin from the pantry shelf, the small paper sack of contraceptive herbs Obi-Wan would have to begin drinking tucked behind it. She'd vowed never to lose another person. Losing Nagpal devastated them, but a _child_? Would she be willing to take the risk? Would he?

"I'm not trying to scare you," Mari said when Sabé returned to the counter. She'd turned off the stove and filled the two mugs. "But it is important to go into it with full knowledge."

"Was _your_ life ever in danger?" Sabé asked, dropping a teabag into each.

"That last miscarriage was...complicated. And I hemorrhaged with Wulfric," Mari replied. "But Sim knew what to do."

Sabé's eyes rounded. "Sim?"

"He comes from a long line of eopie breeders. He's seen it all. I'd trust his midwifery skills over any droid in a birthing center."

"You delivered them all at home?" Even as she asked, Sabé knew it was an unnecessary question. Of course the women of the Wastes had homebirths. What else would they do? Certainly not ride hours through the desert on eopieback while in the throes of contractions.

Gaze drifting to the narrow bed in the alcove, she tried to picture herself in labor, Obi-Wan assisting. It wasn't a difficult image to conjure, she found, for she'd been ill in that bed, his hands and voice the ones that nursed and soothed her.

_Saved her._

"It's incredible, making a life with the man you love and bringing it into the world together," Mari said. "That's why we did it four times."

"I'm not sure we have the square footage to do it four times." Sabé returned her grin.

"You fit four in the cellar last night." Mari's eyes laughed as she sipped her tea, and Sabé snorted into her own mug. "Whatever you and Ben decide, I hope all the best for you."

Sabé thanked her, and Mari added, "And I saved the crib and all the baby clothes."

"Can I borrow this?" Dayne asked, holding up the holonovel.

"It's okay with me if it is with your mother," Sabé replied. In a lower voice, she said, "It's a little racy."

"In that case, maybe I'll read it after Dayne."

"Read what after Dayne?"

They turned to see Obi-Wan holding the side door open for Gunnar and Tuva, who burst in ahead of him, panting and sweaty and begging their mother for drinks of water; she sent them to the 'fresher to wash hands and faces, commenting that they smelled like zucca boars.

" _Kiss of the Krayt_ ," Sabé told Obi-Wan as he washed up at the kitchen sink.

"I'm a little surprised at your choice of reading material, Ben," Mari teased.

"I had much to learn." His eyes crinkled in gratitude as he turned to Sabé and took the cup of water she offered; instead of drinking, he leaned in to brush a kiss over her lips.

Mari, rendered momentarily speechless by that frank admission, recovered and said, “Oh, yes. Your...religion.”

The expression Sabé had seen last night crossed Mari's face again now. _I’ve never heard of anyone surviving a raiding party_ , she’d said. Before Sabé could scrutinize her friend too closely, Gunnar blundered out of the 'fresher, looking scarcely cleaner than he'd gone in, and Mari caught him to wipe his face herself.

“There’s a sequel,” Obi-Wan went on, “if you find one trashy romance just isn’t enough.”

“New books are hard to come by,” said Dayne as she tucked the holobook into her rucksack hanging from a peg in the hall. “You won’t see us being picky.”

After she cinched the bag closed, something outside caught her attention. She opened the side door, calling, “Dad’s back!” as she skipped down the steps to meet him.

They all went out to help unload the speeder--or, in the case of Gunnar and Tuva, to get in the way of unloading the speeder. Mari took charge of the vaporator cooling bar. "We'll get out of your hair after I install this," she said, beckoning for Sabé to go with her. _Watch and learn_.

"Unless you want to finish the barn?" Sim asked.

"Not in the heat of the day," Obi-Wan replied.

"Besides, what'll we do tomorrow if we finish everything today?" Sabé quipped.

Obi-Wan thanked Sim and Wulfric for picking up the supplies. "Did I give you enough to pay for it all?"

"More than enough." Sim delved into a pouch on his wide leather belt for the change, which Obi-Wan stuffed it into his trouser pocket

"Even with Watto not in a bargaining mood," Wulfric said with a toss of his shaggy fringe as he took one end of a stack of scrap tin.

"Is he ever?" Obi-Wan's grin was followed by a grunt as he hefted the other end. From the vaporator, Sabé watched him and Wulfric shuffle sideways toward the barn and thought how easily he could've levitated it all, as he had when they'd constructed their garden towers.

"Less so than usual today," Sim replied, hauling a wooden board over his shoulder.

"Oh, dear," said Obi-Wan. "In that case, I'm glad I didn't have to deal with him."

Depositing the first stack of tin near the barn, he headed back toward the speeder for another load, so he missed the look that passed between Wulfric and his father. Sim gave his head a faint shake, a warning look in his dark eyes that clearly said _don't say it._ Either Wulfric didn't understand, or chose to ignore it.

He trudged after Obi-Wan and said, "You probably would've lost your poodoo."

" _Wulfric_."

Obi-Wan glanced back, amused, but the hint of a grin slid from his face when he saw Wulfric wasn't laughing.

"That kid." Wulfric planted his feet. "The slave boy."

"Dojj." Sabé drifted from the vaporator, fear spiking. She heard the crunch of Mari's footsteps behind her. "What happened to Dojj?"

Wulfric glanced back at her, but returned his gaze to Obi-Wan when he spoke. "He went with those Imperial recruiters."

Sabé heard the air go out of Obi-Wan, as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Her own cinched with the same sickening feeling. _We didn't look out for him_.

But Obi-Wan had tried. He'd warned the boy....

One look at his face told her that thought would be of no comfort to him at all.

Wiping his hands on his tunic, Sim approached with a look of resignation. “For what it’s worth, his mother thinks he’s better off.”

“Dad, she was _crying_!”

"That poor woman," Mari murmured.

Sim put a hand on Wulfric’s shoulder. The boy shrugged out from under it and stalked away to grab another plank. Without waiting for his sister to help, he dragged it angrily across the sand, leaving a trail from the speeder to the partially-built eopie shelter.

“It upset him,” Sim said under his breath, gesturing vaguely. “Probably he feels guilty for scaring us when he went to town with you.”

_Or he knows how close he came to being another Dojj_. “He’s a kind young man,” Sabé managed. “It’s never wrong to care.”

Sim’s throat worked. He jerked a nod at her, then joined his red-faced son to carry another plank.

But Wulfric didn’t reach for the board. Instead, he flung at Obi-Wan, "Can't you do something?"

Sim stood and glowered at his son...but he didn’t rebuke him.

"What could I do?" Obi-Wan asked, opening his palms. "I'm one man, Wulfric. Against an Empire."

"That didn't stop you yesterday when it was Tuskens. You're one man with _powers._ Isn't this what you were supposed to do with them before? Help people like Dojj?"

Sabé's heart juddered.

_He knows._

Her eyes darted to Mari and Sim, who didn't try to shush Wulfric now, but instead watched Obi-Wan, just as expectantly, waiting for his response.

_They all know._

"And hairdressers aren't sharpshooters," Dayne said.

A breeze whipped sand across Sabé’s face. Gunnar and Tuva cavorted around Mitali, who bleated. The speeder’s engine clicked as it cooled.

“You understand what this means,” said Obi-Wan to Wulfric before he glanced at Dayne and finally directed his attention to Sim and Mari. “Fraternizing with enemies to the Empire. What danger it would spell for you, for everyone in your family.”

It wasn’t a threat, but Mari paled. Her gaze shifted to Sabé, then back to Obi-Wan.

Sim ground his jaw, thinking. A long inhalation. “You’re not telling.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“So why should we?”

“Sim--” began Mari.

He put up a hand. “Do you think we would trust anyone to _reward_ us for information leading to the whereabouts of... _enemies to the Empire_?”

Obi-Wan didn't move except to blink. He looked as though he didn't entirely believe what Sim was saying. And how could he? Anakin had been like a brother, yet he'd betrayed him for reasons Sabé still couldn't comprehend. What had they done to earn such loyalty?

Nothing, they'd done nothing.

Now, Wulfric asked just one thing.

When Obi-Wan didn't respond, Sim hauled the last of the wood out of the speeder. “You’re our friends," he gritted out. "I don’t care whose enemies you are.”

He swung around--to hide emotion, Sabé thought. Mari gazed at him as he strode past, proud, and every bit as resolute. It was all Sabé could do to stand there wearing her friend's old clothes and not weep.

Obi-Wan sounded near tears, too, his voice soft and hoarse when at last he used it. "You remind me of a boy I used to know."

The entire family looked at him, but his gaze locked with the eldest son's piercing dark eyes.

"A boy from Tatooine, who believed he would free all the slaves and bring peace to the Galaxy. I...shall try not to fail you, too."

~*~

After the last goodbyes were said and embraces exchanged, Obi-Wan and Sabé returned hand-in-hand to the cool of their house. Before she could shut the door behind her, Obi-Wan pivoted, pressing his mouth to hers as he pushed the door with one hand, until her body was pinned between his and the cold metal. A quiet, insistent desire flooded her at once, and she found herself grinding against him, fingers threaded through his sand-whipped hair.

His disrobing of her was slow and methodical, though he let the garments fall where they would. Her hands shook with impatience. She tried to keep his pace, but barely suppressed a whimper when his tunic tie proved difficult. He stepped backward to loosen it himself, and the sharp longing in his eyes nearly made her knees buckle. It matched the pang she only now recognized had been deepening within her since yesterday, if only they'd had the time or the privacy to do anything about it.

Any given moment could be the last. How many more would they cheat?

Hooking her fingers over the waistband of his trousers, she hauled him against her once more, her breasts melting into the warmth of his bare chest. His hands held her face as he covered her mouth with his. Their hips pressed almost flush together, but Sabé wriggled a hand between them and unfastened his trousers with greater success than she had his tunic. The moment the garment dropped to the floor with the rest of their clothing, he grasped the back of her knee and hiked her leg up. They both gasped as he entered her.

Now she felt _his_ impatience as he deliberately slowed his rhythm, his body trembling through and beyond each thrust, as though he could go deeper, _should_ go deeper. He _should_. She wanted him to, needed it, for what point was there in anything if she didn't have him? Clutching his backside, she drew him in deeper, as if doing so would bind their bodies together as irrevocably as their hearts, however Tatooine and the Empire tried to tear them apart.

They cried out in unison, though their breath was out of time as they panted to catch it. The leg Sabé balanced on trembled, she tried to lower her other foot to the floor. Obi-Wan's fingers cinched tighter behind her knee, refusing to let go, his hair tickling her shoulder where he shook his head against it. She sagged against the door for support to give him a moment; he leaned more heavily into her, then snaked the arm beneath her other knee and swept her up into his arms.

Keeping his heavy-lidded gaze on her face, he carried her to the bed where he laid her gently on top of the covers and joined her with a sigh. For a time they simply rested and looked at each other, rubbing fingers along freckles and scars, tracing curves and angles.

Sabé couldn’t even think about yesterday’s eternal moments when Obi-Wan sprawled on the ground beneath Nagpal, the seemingly endless minutes when she told herself he would rise again, he would, he had to.

Shaking her head to drive the echoes of terror out, she said, “It’s never enough.”

Obi-Wan seemed to accept that, though she knew as soon as she’d spoken that her thought was far from clear. Even she wasn’t sure if she meant her thirst for him, or the loss of her ability to do good in the galaxy.

“No matter what we do, we can’t save everyone.” Apparently he’d decided on the second option, but his hand cupped her hip possessively. “But Dojj…”

She blew out a long breath and blinked back tears.

“It was Dojj who noticed you in the market that day. He told Sim I'd taken you home. He--” Obi-Wan’s throat worked as he tried to master his emotions. “He brought us together. Gave us friends...”

Neither of them could give voice to the question: Who would be _his_ friend?

Other children like himself, duped into the service of the Empire on the false promise of a better life. Not an encouraging thought, but perhaps more so than the one that followed of how every scrap of kindness and empathy would be conditioned out of them by their training. And if it wasn't, there would be no defecting. No escape. Not for those who'd joined up to help their families.

It was unthinkable that someone like Dojj could become the tormenter of someone like her. Dormé. Motée.

"What will become of his mother?" Sabé asked. Mari's words rang in her head. _That poor woman._ "Without her children, what'll she have to live for?"

An entire family, separated. Alone. With no one in the galaxy who cared, except for two people who'd only watched helplessly as it happened.

“Anakin’s mother made a similar sacrifice,” Obi-Wan whispered, his gaze lowered, far away. But then he raised his eyes to hers again. “Perhaps allowing Dojj to join the Empire was the closest thing to protection she thought she could give him. Whereas with Cosi, her hands were tied...”

"We owe it to him," Sabé said. "To do what we can to help Nora and Cosi."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I all but promised Wulfric."

Wulfric. He cared, too. Believed they could help.

"How long do you think they've known?" Obi-Wan asked. " _How_ do they?" The line deepened between his brows as he frowned. "Perhaps I'm not as discreet as I thought."

"Perhaps you're not as _different_ as you thought."  Sabé smiled. “Then again, most people don’t report scaring off Jawas, much less Tuskens.”

“That’s my tragic flaw. I’m too chatty.”

His gentle smile filled her heart until she laughed. “And I’m too handy with rifles.”

She reached up to push a fallen lock of hair out of his face, stroking his forehead, and the furrows relaxed. When she traced the edge of his face down to his beard, he caught her hand and pressed kisses to her fingers curled around his. Her eyelids began to droop as she stared at him. Still holding her hand, Obi-Wan wrapped his other arm around her as she tucked her head under his chin, where she felt the steady beat of his heart until she fell asleep.

And woke to the sound of scratching.

The suns had shifted so that the room was quite dim. Still on her side, but no longer curled up with Obi-Wan, she blinked at the wall and snuggled lower into the blanket he must’ve drawn over her when he got up.

More scratching.

She rolled onto her belly and saw Obi-Wan seated at the cramped dining table. He'd dressed--in fresh clothes--and his hair, neatly tied back, looked clean, too. He'd taken a sonic shower without waking her? And heated the kettle, apparently, too, for a steaming mug stood near where his left hand rested on the table. In his other hand he held a pen, writing in what appeared to be the leather journal she'd given him.

The pen went still. Sabé thought he must have realized she was awake, but he raised his eyes to the trunk where he usually sat for dinner and murmured in a voice too low for her to catch the words. _Qui-Gon._ Smiling, she tried to imagine the Jedi Master seated there so serenely, speaking as Obi-Wan sipped from his mug.

Blue eyes flashed in response to something Qui-Gon must’ve said, and Obi-Wan gestured to a page in his journal, muttering something too quietly for mortal ears to hear. Sabé barely caught a few words as his speech became more heated: _truth_ , and _so they understand_.

It was then that she noticed the money he’d piled at the edge of the table. The remains of their winnings, in neat stacks. Her eyebrows drew together.

“Oh,” said Obi-Wan--louder, for her benefit. “Hello there.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He shrugged and gestured to the pages in front of him. “I’ve neglected this for far too long. Yesterday was…a reminder of that.” His eyes went to the money. “Among other things.”

Sabé stood, wrapping the blanket around her. “Is he still--?” She gestured to the trunk. When Obi-Wan shook his head, she sat across from him. "Having second thoughts?" she asked. "About how to spend the money?"

"We need a second vaporator," he replied. "We're no good to other people if we don't take care of ourselves."

"But you've been thinking of how to help Dojj's family?"

Obi-Wan _hmm_ ed as he took another sip of tea, his gaze drifting out the window over the table. "I told you how Qui-Gon tried to buy Anakin's mother from Watto, but was unable to free her."

"But Ben the Hermit can't buy slaves and set them free. That would be too conspicuous."

"Indeed. But Ben the Hermit's money can."

His eyes met hers, and Sabé's blood thrummed with her dawning understanding of where he was going with this. "We can ask Bail Organa to help. Someone can come to Tatooine...buy them and take them off-world…"

She rose and paced across the rug. Who did she know? Who might help? “Shep Darni. He’s a tailor in Theed. His shop makes the royal garments, it’s a huge operation. I saw him take in refugees as workers, and he paid them well. Trained them, too. People came and went, some stayed, but he always had room for more.” She turned to find Obi-Wan watching her, eyes glittering with feeling. “If Bail could get a message to him, I’m sure he’d say yes.”

“I love you.”

She stopped, surprised, conscious suddenly that she hadn't a stitch on except for the blanket wrapped around her. But that wasn't why he'd said it, or stared at her in a way that made her pulse quicken. _This is who I was_.

_This is who I_ am.

A smile stretched her face even as emotion gripped her chest, so tightly that she nearly curled inward. She threw her shoulders back. “Can we do it?”

“Yes.”

Returning to the trunk, they hashed out logistics--how much a vaporator might cost, even a salvaged one purchased from the Jawas; how long it would take to track down Cosi’s whereabouts; whether paying for slaves to free them was a precedent the fledgeling Rebellion could afford to establish (morally and economically) when they so far could barely manage the few rescue missions Bail had told Obi-Wan about; if it would be safe to enlist fringe groups for such purposes.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “If you mean people like Saw Gerrera, my inclination is against it.”

“Agreed.” An image of blood on a ‘fresher floor rushed at her. “He’s not picky enough about who he trusts.”

Even with all her training, Sabé had been lucky to escape, and that luck had nearly run out again on Tatooine. She wouldn't risk Cosi and Nora suffering more, after all they'd endured at the hands of their masters.

"At least my own experiences can help others," she said with a sigh.

"Perhaps you ought to keep a journal, too."

Her gaze dropped to the leather cover of the notebook, which he'd absently closed at some point during the conversation, the pen still tucked inside. Since he'd come here, he'd made several attempts to chronicle what he could of the Jedi, but had become overwhelmed by the enormity of the task and his own sorrow.

"How's it going?" she asked.

"Better, I think, now I've decided to write to a specific audience."

Luke and Leia. If he couldn't go to Alderaan, or the Lars homestead, he could write what they should know.

He placed his hand on the cover and slid it toward her.

Sabé looked up at him. "You want me to read it?"

"Qui-Gon kept drifting to peek over my shoulder. It's only right I let my wife as well as my ghost." Softer, he said, "If you wouldn't mind. I value your opinion."

Hoping the look on her face conveyed how honored she was to be entrusted with this, she clutched the book to her chest and retreated to the bed. Once she’d arranged the pillows and nestled under the blanket, she opened it.

_A long time ago_ , read the first legible words after several pages of crossed-out paragraphs, _a young boy was brought to Coruscant. He was too young to understand why, or to miss his first family. His new family was called_ Jedi _, and he was to become one of them._

The writing was neat and expressive. She couldn’t help but imagine that young boy in the Temple’s library, sitting at an expansive table in a shaft of light, writing about the history of the Jedi and feeling similarly overwhelmed by the task. Not for the first time, she wished she could speak to their resident ghost and ask him what Obi-Wan had been like before she knew him, a Padawan at his studies. She had a pretty good idea his perfectionism had nearly been his undoing.

Quiet clinks and clanks from the kitchen told her that Obi-Wan had made himself busy there, perhaps out of nervousness. He’d cook tonight while she read.

_His childhood was a happy one, although happiness was not a state of being to be pursued. He never knew loneliness, for he was surrounded by girls and boys and beings his own age, younger and older (these were called Younglings, in the Temple Crèche). They lived and learned together, under the care of Knights and Masters who themselves had been brought up there._

_The boy did not lack for love, in spite of the Jedi teaching that attachment was forbidden._

_He never questioned this discrepancy in the Code, though it was the foundation of all. Not until it crumbled beneath the weight of more than a thousand generations of Jedi and their failure to see. Not until they were all gone._

_Jedi were never meant to be alone._

Sabé’s heart contracted and tears sprang to her eyes as she read on, for what his words told her about his time here, before her. Not that she hadn’t known. She’d lived it, too. Perhaps he meant this for Luke’s and Leia’s eyes, but just now it felt like a love letter to her.

A strange, perfect love letter.

Next came a brief history of the Jedi, insofar as it informed the structure of learning, but all was written from the young Obi-Wan’s point of view. Before long, Sabé imagined Luke and Leia reading this...their own children...darting amazed glances at the only man who’d been there, in the actual Temple, with so many others just like them.

When she came to the place where he'd left off, she look up to see him leaning against the column at the foot of the steps, one arm folded across his torso, the other elbow resting on it as he stroked his mustache. A shudder inside her chest told her she was dangerously close to weeping. Instead, she closed the journal, set it aside, and reached out her hand. At once, Obi-Wan crossed the few steps to her, clasped it, and went to his knees beside the bed as she kissed him.

_A long time ago_ , she thought, _there lived a Jedi and a Queen..._


	28. Chapter 28

_Drip....drip...drip…_

In the cellar, a person could--and Obi-Wan often did--forget he was on Tatooine. The constant trickle of water through the irrigation tubes, the planter towers, splashing into the troughs and then being pumped through filters again into the cistern, was as un-desertlike a sound as could be imagined. It smelled wet, too-- _petrichor_ , that was the word--fresh foliage after a rain, rich earth, even the faint must of mold they hadn't planned on contending with in such a small space.

"There's life everywhere," Sabé had said with a wry grin when they discovered it growing on the earthen walls behind the towers, and then had come the challenge of how to get rid of it. Which reminded him they were on Tatooine. Because nothing could be easy here, could it?

“A small price to pay,” he’d said later as they rigged the humidifier to pull the excess moisture from the basement into the dry living quarters upstairs. “And this should leave us more water in our main cistern, since the humidifier will no longer draw from that.”

No, nothing was easy. But learning to make do--that was worth something.

Finally, their efforts had paid off. He tugged a carrot from the tower and handed it to Sabé, who bit the delicate end off and chewed. Her slow smile told him that the carrots, at least, were a success. Less so the lettuces, some of which they’d already removed, because of the root rot that had destroyed those varietals. But the crisp Naboo lettuce had been delicious.

Now that most of the root vegetables were ready for harvest, they would need to transfer the new trays of seedlings. But first…

“Shall we invite the neighbors for dinner tomorrow?” asked Obi-Wan. “A proper one?” The Torve weed plant might even be ready to try.

Sabé’s grin broadened, and she went upstairs to retrieve the comlink from her jacket pocket.

With that to look forward to, the rest of the harvesting passed in joyful anticipation. They took it in turns to trim the roots, deposit them in the compost bin, and sort the vegetables into clean, open storage containers labelled on the shelves, withholding a few to add to a salad made with the lettuce in the refrigeration unit. A light meal, for they were both too tired from the afternoon's work to spend much time cooking. Tomorrow they'd do little else, with a dinner party to prepare for.

"You're becoming quite the social butterfly," Qui-Gon said once they were upstairs.

Obi-Wan snorted. "I'm not sure I exactly qualify when there's just _one_ set of friends I engage with on a regular basis."

Sabé, who'd been rinsing carrots and radishes, merely handed him a vegetable peeler, accustomed by now to his one-sided conversations. They didn't occur as frequently as they'd used to, before he had her to discuss his struggles with. The struggles, too, seemed to have reduced--or at least they felt less significant.

"What of Owen and Beru Lars?" asked Qui-Gon. "Are you never to engage with _them_?"

Obi-Wan watched the carrot skin curl away from the bright orange fiber beneath the steel blade of the peeler. "My last two attempts have been rebuffed. I'm not sure I ought to impose again."

Beru hadn’t been well, Owen had told him the first time Obi-Wan contacted him after their fraught parting about a visit. When the following month brought the same excuse, this time accompanied by the warning that he wouldn't have anything distress her, both Obi-Wan and Sabé had wondered if Beru had become pregnant. If she had, she may not be up to hosting guests for some time.

Something had shifted, and Obi-Wan didn’t need the Force to tell him so.

Still, he had to try. For Luke’s sake. He handed the peeler to Sabé, who took it without question, and wiped his hands on a towel, slinging it over his shoulder as he took his comlink from his cloak pocket. Qui-Gon hovered, and Obi-Wan took comfort from his presence.

Owen’s barked greeting crackled through the device. Obi-Wan imagined him kneeling in the vaporator fields, tinkering with a patch-in droid and resenting the interruption. Or perhaps he stood, wiping his brow and looking toward home.

“How’s Beru?”

A silence. “She’s on the mend.”

Obi-Wan waited, but no other explanation was forthcoming. Surely if she were pregnant, they’d be telling people by now. She must’ve miscarried. He couldn’t imagine Owen being as secretive about any other illness. As if the ordeal were something to be ashamed of.

Swallowing, he asked, “And Luke?”

Static through the transmission, but no voice.

“Owen, I have to ask.”

Seconds stretched into moments, gripping his heart so fiercely that he had to breathe out into the Force lest he shout his next word: “Owen.”

“We’re all fine here,” he replied, curt. “We’re doing fine without you.”

A huff of breath behind him made Obi-Wan glance back over his shoulder. Sabé had abandoned dinner prep to listen to the comlink conversation. Two spots of bright color appeared on her cheekbones, but her lips lips turned white as she pressed them together, physically holding back sharp words.

“The willow bends with the tempest,” whispered Qui-Gon, “and rises again.”

Obi-Wan breathed his fear into the Force.

"I've no doubt you are," he replied. "But if there ever is anything Sabé or I can do…"

"I know how to contact you," Owen replied, and the connection ended.

For a moment Obi-Wan stood, staring at the comlink, so heavy in his hand, his body weary all over. He'd scarcely lowered himself onto the living room step than Sabé sat at his side, arms around him. He gave in to her support, leaning his head against her shoulder.

"I try to understand where Owen's coming from, really I do," she said, "but he makes it difficult to like him. Or to hold my tongue."

At that, Obi-Wan felt his mouth move in something resembling a smile. She had the self-control of a Jedi--more than some Jedi he'd known--to respect the precarious position he was in with Luke's guardian rather than succumb to her own desire to give Owen a piece of her mind, however right she was.

"What would you have told him?" he asked.

Raising his head, he saw her lips still pinched together before she met his eye. Then she said, "That he's no good to Beru if he keeps all his pain to himself and doesn't let people in. What kind of example is that to Luke?" Her voice became choked. "The galaxy is cruel. We need all the help we can get."

A lesson Obi-Wan had nearly learned too late.

“It’s hardest to extend patience,” said Qui-Gon, sitting with them, “to those learning the very lessons we’ve delayed learning ourselves.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Obi-Wan. “Now go away.”

The ghost obliged, but not before sharing a sympathetic glance. Or was it a smirk?

Obi-Wan sighed. “Will I be as annoying--” He was about to say _a father_. He glanced down at Sabé, who’d rested her head on his shoulder, arm still around his back.

He could only hope that he would be.

"You know another lesson I've learned?" he said, and when Sabé looked at him, she appeared only slightly puzzled by the shift in topic. "Not to try to cope with pain on an empty stomach. Let's eat."

Supper, as usual, improved their outlook a great deal. The carrots seemed especially crisp and sweet, the radishes peppery, though Obi-Wan and Sabé couldn't decide if their enjoyment stemmed from growing the vegetables themselves, or because fresh produce was still something of a novelty.

"Let's settle for the latter," Obi-Wan said, grinning around a bite, "because the former's veering a little too close to pride."

"Didn't you say the result speaks for itself?" Sabé teased. Her eyebrows pulled together when he put down his fork, picked a carrot from amidst the bed of lettuce, and held it up at eye level.

Moving his lips only slightly, he said in a high pitch, "Good job, Obi-Wan! Good job, Sabé!"

It had been a long time since she'd blinked at him as if he were a madman.

"What?" he asked in his own voice. "That was just the result speaking for itself."

Her nose crinkled when she laughed, a throaty chuckle that drove him to distraction. He could only smile and bask in her pleasure.

But there was only so much distraction to be found in conversation, no matter how lighthearted. Obi-Wan’s thoughts kept returning to Owen’s terse rejection, even though he could do nothing to repair the rift right now...if ever.

It was the _if ever_ that he tried hardest to ignore.

After they finished clearing the table, Obi-Wan donned boots, belt, and lightsaber and went out into the yard, calling a greeting to Mitali as he passed her corral to a flat area where he liked to warm up. The suns hung heavy in the west; in less than an hour they’d dip below the horizon and scatter a riot of color across wispy clouds and searing landscape, the dying hues painting whatever they touched with the ghosts of light and life.

Sabé joined him with her training saber, and he was grateful for her silent company. The physical movement of the forms directed him toward the Force, and not in the disembodied way that meditation often did. It wasn’t cerebral connection he needed. He craved the rocks and sand shifting under his feet, the sweat trickling down his back, the suns warming his face when he turned and turned again.

They repeated their forms three times, Obi-Wan immersing himself in Niman while Sabé dove into Shii-Cho. Now and then--there it was again!--he grasped it, the Living Force unique to Niman, as buoyant and pliant as Qui-Gon had always assured him it would be. When he raised his blade, the Force lifted him. On the slash, the Force added weight and strength to his arm, his body, his intention. Within his tumble and whirl, earth and air cradled him and spat him back up, a complete cycle of preparation, readiness, execution, and completion.

It was tempting to begin the form a fourth time, to touch that truth once more, but Obi-Wan knew that today’s task was done. Panting, he clipped his saber to his belt and turned to observe Sabé’s final series of moves.

When they practiced in the mornings, the exertion woke her, her eyes became clearer, her body stretched and broadened. In the evenings, however, she seemed closer to the Force, whether she knew it or not. Her eyes saw what was before her, and what wasn’t; her muscles moved with the fluid grace that only the Force could impart; her mind calmed. Obi-Wan’s did, too, when he watched her.

Finishing, Sabé held her blade vertically before her, closing her eyes as she tried to steady her breath and still her heaving shoulders. But the Force was already slipping from her. She opened her eyes and blinked.

“No feedback tonight?”

“We are both student and teacher, to ourselves and to others,” Obi-Wan said. “There are times when one progresses further under her own guidance.”

Sabé lowered her saber and dragged her forearm across her sweaty brow. “So it _was_ better.”

He nodded, unable to contain his smile any longer. Her own broad grin mirrored his, dimples showing, eyes shining with pride in her accomplishment. How could he fault her for it?

A low bray from behind drew their attention to the corral. "Even Mitali agrees," Obi-Wan said.

"Or she's just asking to be let out," said Sabé with a laugh, moving to unhook the gate.

The eopie nuzzled against Sabé's hand, then lumbered off in search of vegetation to graze on as they perched on the rails of the fence watching, their shadows lengthening across the cracked earth as they passed a canteen back and forth.

"Far be it from me to pass judgment on a female's figure," Obi-Wan said, "but does Mitali look a little, er--"

"Thick around the middle?" Sabé finished the sentence. "I was just thinking the same thing."

They turned their heads to look toward each other. Inexplicably, his heart quickened in his chest, and the light that blazed in Sabé's eyes was different than the one that had burned there moments before. _Hope._

"Sim said she's young," she said, breathless. "It could just be a...growth spurt."

Of course it could. That was the most logical conclusion. But… "We haven't changed the amount we've been feeding her."

"No. We haven't." Though it was possible she’d been eating more when she grazed.

Obi-Wan pushed off the fence and made his way down the hillside to where Mitali nosed between the rocks, the crunch of Sabé's boots following close behind.  He had a feeling about this.

A good feeling.

At their approach, the eopie raised her head, blinking her big eyes at them as if to ask whether she had to go in already.

"Not quite, madam," Obi-Wan told her, rubbing her neck. "But if I may…"

Mitali gave another bleat, which sounded decidedly like an assent, or at least apathy, and lowered her head to resume grazing as he trailed his hand down to the bulge of her belly.

The surge of life was instantaneous, and unmistakable.

Obi-Wan's laugh rang out.

In his periphery, he saw Sabé's hand go up to her mouth. "Mitali's--"

"With calf!" He grabbed her hand and pressed it to the eopie's side, and her laughter joined with his, though of course she couldn't sense what he had.

"We should have Sim confirm it," Obi-Wan said, after their initial joy had subsided, Sabé's warm hand still clasped in his . "He can't have intended to give us a pregnant eopie."

“He can’t have given us a pregnant eopie by mistake. He knows eopies."

“Well, if it was on purpose, maybe he’ll tell us how to birth a calf.”

Sitting close together on a low dune as they shared the last of the canteen, they watched Mitali root around and crop grasses and weeds until it was nearly too dark to see. A weighted silence draped them, heavy as nightfall, full of things unsaid. Silently Sabé guided Mitali back to her corral and Obi-Wan checked the troughs inside her shelter and gave her an extra scoop of Anoat oats.

When they went into the house, by wordless agreement they drew out the rituals of shedding shoes, scarf, and cloak and putting the kettle on for tea. Sabé leaned against the column between the kitchen and the living area, running her fingers through the damp tendrils clinging to the nape of her neck.

Obi-Wan reached for the contraceptive tea and held it, along with his breath, as though it were a bomb. He turned around and looked at Sabé. Her glistening eyes captured his. He could practically feel her pulse drumming from where he stood.

“For now,” she said.

As a Jedi peacekeeper, Obi-Wan had fallen--or leapt--from great heights many times; but those falls were nothing compared to the dizzying relief coupled with disappointment that made him feel he’d plummeted to some new depth now.

“You wondered about your true feelings on the matter,” said Qui-Gon. “There’s your answer.”

“That’s no answer,” Obi-Wan replied. He shook his head when Sabé’s brows drew together, wondering if his comment was to her.

“Do you think anyone feels certain about bringing a life into this world?” Qui-Gon’s voice echoed after his body dissipated.

Surely they must do, Obi-Wan thought as he went on with making tea, his own and the kind Sabé drank. They must, or they wouldn't make such a momentous decision. Although admittedly, he'd never discussed the subject with anyone to whom it was relevant. He'd never even _known_ anyone to whom it was.

With one notable exception. Even as Obi-Wan told himself--or Qui-Gon did--that Anakin was the worst possible comparison, he couldn't help but make it. How heavily had that same feeling of isolation weighed on the young man when he found himself faced with the prospect of fatherhood?

Or had he chosen it?

Anakin hadn't merely taken a lover, after all. He'd married Padmé. Who was to say they hadn't planned to start a family?

At the very least, Anakin had wanted his children. Obi-Wan felt that the moment the midwife droid placed Luke in his arms, as surely as he'd felt the eopie calf when he touched Mitali.

Obi-Wan stared into the darkening brew of the teacups.

"Why not think of an example of paternity that didn't have galactic implications?" Qui-Gon's voice swirled through his mind.

"Doesn't every choice?" Obi-Wan retorted as he fished the tea strainers out of the mugs, but his Master was right. Anakin wasn't the only father he knew. But didn't Sim Starfall rather make his point? Who would make that choice four times over without the utmost certainty?

He dropped the tea leaves into the compost bin, spooned honey into the cups, and carried them into the living room, where Sabé waited on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest and biting her thumbnail. Her eyes tracked the teacup he placed nearest to her on the table, then his as he raised it to his lips, sitting back on the opposite end of the mattress.

When he'd sipped, she said, "I only said _for now_. Not _for ever._ "

In his haste to reply, Obi-Wan swallowed too quickly, burning his throat.

"Some days I'm sure of what I want," Sabé went on, "but others…" She lifted her eyes to meet his. "I'm afraid."

At least Obi-Wan wasn’t alone in feeling conflicted. But then his heart lurched. She’d told him that sometimes she _was_ certain. And she wasn’t alone in that, either.

He took another sip of the no-longer-strange concoction, savory on his tongue and sweet going down, and thought of the Ho’Din who’d sold it to him. _Everything in its season_. It was summer now. They had the harvest to think of. And new seeds could germinate, if they’d only give them some earth, a little water, and sunshine.

“I know.”

They sipped in silence for a time, each buried in thought, and Obi-Wan thought of the times he’d meditated in tandem with Qui-Gon, with Anakin, and with the rest of the Jedi Council. This felt much the same.

“It seems crazy,” he said at length, setting his empty mug on the table. “But...I do have a reputation to uphold.”

With a half-grin, Sabé placed her tea beside his. "I didn't tell you before, but when I wrote my mother we'd planted a garden, she thought that was part of the code. She asked if I was pregnant."

"Did she?" Grinning like an idiot probably wasn't the appropriate response, but he couldn't help himself.

"And Mari asked if we plan to have children. Knowing what we are. Why we're here." Sabé shrugged. "Maybe it's _not_ so crazy."

"Apart from considering squeezing another person into this tiny house?"

"We fit all four Starfall kids in the cellar."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. "You're thinking _four_? We've hardly discussed _one._ "

"Just, you know. Theoretically. We fit four, so one would be no problem. Or two."

"I did imagine it," he admitted. "Our own, tucked into beds in the middle of a garden. I've dreamed of them, too."

Conversation suspended once more as they gazed at each other, smiling, until they leaned in--he hadn't realized they'd moved closer to each other on the bed--and pressed their lips together.

It was heady, the confession of secret desires, and when Sabé’s tongue snaked into his mouth he nearly growled with longing. But he refrained, responding to her while measuring his own ardor. He cupped her face as their kisses became soft once more, continued to cradle it in his hands as they drew apart. He felt the shudder in her breath, excitement, yes, but apprehension, too. Anticipation could contain seeds of fear and still sprout in joy.

“To each day its task,” he whispered against her lips.

Today’s had been well tended.

~*~

"Is that really necessary?" Obi-Wan asked as Sim Starfall positioned himself at Mitali's hind end and rolled up his sleeve.

"You said we should ask Sim to confirm it," said Sabé, eyes dancing with laughter.

"Only way to confirm pregnancy's with an exam," Sim added.

"I _did_ examine her."

"Not like this."  

"Well, no." Obi-Wan held Mitali's bridle and stroked her snout, but found himself unable to meet her gaze.

" _How_ did you?" asked Wulfric, leaning against the open door of the eopie shed. He tossed his hair out of his eyes and wiggled his fingers, raising his eyebrows in question.

Though the Starfalls had known for months now that he was a Jedi, Obi-Wan still found himself reluctant to speak plainly to them about it. The less verbal confirmation they had, the better.

"Every living creature has a life force," he replied.

"And you...sensed it?" Mari asked. "Felt it?"

Obi-Wan _hmm_ ed and looked at Sim again, who regarded him from the length of the eopie with as much skepticism as ever. "Pardon me if I prefer more traditional methods of animal husbandry. Eopies are kind of my specialty. I feel them, too."

Sabé chortled.

With a sigh, Obi-Wan replied, "I bow to your expertise."

He averted his gaze again, this time forcing himself to look Mitali in the eye as he murmured, "My apologies for how invasive this will be--"

A squelching sound underscored his point. Mitali snorted, breath hot against his hand, but went on chewing her cud as though this were not particularly bothersome. Obi-Wan, however, grimaced, and Sabé made gagging sounds.

"Thinking you should've sided with me after all?" he teased.

"I'm thinking Wulfric had the right idea getting the kark out of here."

A glance revealed the doorway to be empty now, except for dust motes swirling in the beam of afternoon sunlight. He looked at Sim and caught him staring from beneath a furrowed brow before he lowered his head and continued with the exam.

"I don't know how you two expect to birth a calf if you can't do this," he said. "Get down here." When they didn't move, he peered around Mitali's hindquarters again, eyes rounded. "I'm not kidding. You'd be amazed at how often eopies have breech births. You've gotta know how to get in there and _pull_."

Sabé and Obi-Wan exchanged glances, then with a shrug, she moved to stand beside Sim, leaving Obi-Wan with no choice but to release the bridle and do the same. Dayne stood behind them, a look of interest on her face, but she’d seen this before. Perhaps she’d performed exams herself.

"She is pregnant, then?" Sabé asked after Sim had explained the basics.

"Oh, yeah." A sucking sound as Sim withdrew his arm. He tugged a rag from his belt to wipe his hands. "I knew there was a chance she might be when I gave her to you."

“Really?” Sabé's gaze touched Obi-Wan's, then darted back to Sim. “But...eopies are your livelihood.”

With an uncharacteristic lack of reply, Sim strode from the barn, heading for the house--presumably to wash up properly. He tossed the rag in the back of the speeder as he passed. The women went after him, Obi-Wan lingering in the shelter to scoop extra oats into Mitali's trough and to offer his congratulations. And another apology.

By the time he caught up to him, they were in the hall taking off shoes. The lapse in conversation persisted, the only voices those of the children in the living room.

"Sim has a little confession to make," Mari said over them, giving her husband a pointed look as he disappeared into the 'fresher. The edges of her pursed lips, however, twitched with repressed laughter.

"I, uh. Bunked Nagpal with Mitali."

For a moment, the only sounds were the rush of the 'fresher tap, and the swish of Sim scrubbing his hands. Then Sabé said, "You mean..." She shook her head, unable to complete the thought.

"Nagpal's the father?" Obi-Wan finished it for her.

"Uh-huh."

Sabé's gaping mouth slowly formed a grin that mirrored the one that stretched Obi-Wan's cheeks.

"Frankly, I'm astonished the old fellow had it in him."

"Nature's resilient," Mari said through the laughter she finally released.

Didn't Obi-Wan know it.

Sim emerged from the 'fresher, rubbing the back of his head. "I wanted to mix things up a little with my herd's gene pool…Like I said, Mitali's young. I wasn't positive they'd actually mate."

"You should have the calf, after it's born," Obi-Wan said. "You were already so generous to give us--"

Mari waved him off. "The calf was Napgal's, so it should be yours. Both Mitali _and_ her young."

Obi-Wan wouldn't reject their kindness by arguing.

"Thank you," said Sabé. "We promise we won't go into competition in the milk business."

Sim snorted. "You better not."

A sudden skittering of a black, many-legged creature on the living room floor made Obi-Wan leap backward and reach for the nonexistent lightsaber at his belt, heart hammering with the rush of adrenaline--until he saw Gunnar laughing where he stood on the trunk.

“Batteries are working now, Mister Ben!”

Tuva squealed and ran from the cleaning droid as it scurried about and sucked dust into its bloated body like an overgrown, agile tick.

“That thing is just _wrong_ ,” Wulfric said, shaking his head as he hopped over it to grab the playing cards and mini-suspension field from the front display table. “Sabaac?”

Dayne sat on the chair next to the bed, feet tucked up under the fabric of her voluminous trousers. “Not until that thing is out of my sight.”

“I hate to admit it, Ben,” said Sabé as she snatched up the cleaner and switched it off, “but you were right.”

She shooed Gunnar off the trunk and replaced the droid on the high windowsill. Shrugging, he joined his three siblings, who’d already settled on the rug around the activated suspension field.

“Can one of you show me how you redirected your humidifier?” asked Sim when he emerged from the ‘fresher.

Obi-Wan led the way into the cellar, and the next few minutes passed in contemplation of the system overhaul Sabé had finessed. In the end, it had only required a specialized filter, which they attached to the humidifier’s intake, and weekly filter rinsings were the only maintenance.

“Huh,” said Sim, straightening up. “All this time we’ve had the exhaust fan going, and we still have mold. We could save a lot of energy--and water--if we did this.”

“Sabé's the mechanical genius in our family,” said Obi-Wan.

“So who’s the green thumb?” Sim’s eyes roved over the produce that surrounded them, some still on the vine but many already in storage bins. “You’ve had a bumper crop.”

“We both had our parts to play.”

Sim sidled from tower to tower, grazing fingers along stem and fruit, until he came to the torve weed. “Ah. She’s ready.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. “She?”

“Only female torve plants flower. These buds are mature.”

For the second time today Obi-Wan found himself a student as Sim spoke at length about the correct way to harvest torve, clipping off the buds with the pruning shears Obi-Wan passed him from the workbench. They collected them in a tray to store in the refrigeration unit upstairs.

“Mari can teach you how to distill the necessary element into cooking oil for baking, but for now…” With a waggle of his eyebrows, Sim produced a set of rolling papers from his pocket.

As though he knew that this was another first, Sim talked his friend through the steps, until they had two hand-rolled cigarettes.

“In case there’s no dessert on the menu.” Chuckling, he handed them to Obi-Wan.

"I baked a batch of sweet-sand cookies," he replied, tucking the cigarettes into a pocket.

Sim grinned. "We’re a family of sweet tooths. Teeth. Whatever.” He shrugged. "Sometimes it feels like the only thing we have in common."

He sat at the workbench to pick the calyces away from the buds, and Obi-Wan followed suit.

“It’s the age, isn’t it?” asked Obi-Wan, trying not to dwell on his own small acts of rebellion as a teenager, for thoughts of that nature invariably led to Anakin.

Sim sighed and smiled. “Dayne bickers with Mari, Wulfric butts heads with me. And so it goes.” He grew quiet, all the while meticulously separating the protective petals from their buds. “Wulfric says he doesn’t want to be a farmer.”

Though Sim's face remained inscrutable, his tone matter-of-fact, Obi-Wan felt a wrench of pain through the Force.

"Did you want to be, when you were a boy?"

"Always," Sim replied. "That's why I can't relate to him at all. Eopies always made more sense to me than people. Except for Mari," he added, the lines easing slightly from his brow. "Her folks offered to let him stay in town with them, learn how to run the garage, but not if those Troopers are sticking around."

There had been increased Imperial presence on Tatooine, though so far the rumored garrison in Bestine remained only that.

"I'm hardly a font of parenting advice," Obi-Wan began, "but--"

"You had someone, didn't you?" Sim caught his eye. "Someone you were responsible for?"

A heartbeat of hesitation, then Obi-Wan nodded. "Someone I loved, though I didn't do a very good job of showing it. If he'd understood that disagreement… _disapproval_...didn't change that, he might have trusted me to…"

Sim waited for him to continue, but when Obi-Wan could not, he said, "Maybe we should smoke one of those joints now."

A chuckle loosened the knot in Obi-Wan’s chest, only to be replaced by a sudden lurching feeling. Before he could second guess himself, he asked, “How did you and Mari know you were ready to have children?”

Sim leaned back in the chair and stared at the maze of pipework above his head. “Honestly?” He leveled his gaze at Obi-Wan. “About six months after Wulfric was born.”

A slow grin spread over his face as Obi-Wan’s brows drew together in confusion.

“No one ever thinks they’re ready, Ben. But you become an instant expert. It’s your _child_.”

“Even if--”

“Especially if,” Sim interrupted. “No one knows what’ll happen. To you, to Sabé, to the kids. You want them to be their own people. _Even if_ they butt heads with you. Even if you’re not...what they think they need.”

He sighed again, picking up the tray as he slid from the chair.

“I guess I’m the only dad around to ask about all this,” he said over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs. “Wish I could offer better.”

Obi-Wan remained rooted where he stood, the scents of rich life all around him.

"The result speaks for itself," he murmured.

Sim paused halfway up the stairs and looked down at him. "What?"

"You have wonderful children."

~*~

"And that," Obi-Wan concluded as Tuva loaded the last of the supper dishes into the sonic washer, "is how to avoid being eaten by a lylek."

The girl straightened up, started the dishwasher, and looked him in the eye. "Or you could just not go to Ryloth at all."

"Good point," said Obi-Wan. "Or at least not crash in that part. Other areas of the planet are most pleasant."

Tuva looked dubious, pursing her lips in an expression reminiscent of her mother, though she had Sim's coloring. Gunnar, however, stalked around the tiny kitchen, both hands forming finger blasters, clearly envisioning himself adventuring in the equatorial forests of Ryloth.

"That was a good story, Mister Ben."

"You're a good audience, Mister Gunnar."

Such had become the after dinner ritual when the two families got together. The youngest Starfalls would ask for stories of his adventures--edited and embellished, of course, though in essence they were true. From a certain point of view. As an added bonus, they were too distracted to complain and bicker when they were on dish duty. Dayne and Wulfric would position themselves somewhere within earshot and pretend not to be as enraptured by the stories as their younger brother and sister. He hoped the stories of other worlds didn't contribute to Wulfric's discontent with this one.

"Can I have a cookie now?" Gunnar had given up hunting lyleks and dropped to all fours, scuttling around in an approximation of one of the insectoid predators.

Obi-Wan frowned and rubbed his beard. "Perhaps you weren't listening as well as I thought. Lyleks are carnivorous."

With a shriek like the lylek sound effect Obi-Wan had demonstrated during the story, Gunnar darted one of his hands like a pincer out for his ankle. But Obi-Wan's reflexes were too quick for that. He caught Gunnar instead, slinging him over his shoulder.

"Ha!" cried the boy, pulling himself up and brandishing a cookie he'd snatched from the plate on the counter.

"No fair!" said Tuva. "I want one, too!"

Dayne shoved a cookie at her sister before the whine could turn into a full-fledged fit.

“Ah,” said Mari from the hallway, where she’d grabbed Gunnar’s jacket and was trying to steer him into it while cookie crumbs spilled down his front. “The silence of the dessert.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay longer?” asked Sabé as she put the rest of the cookies into a paper sack for them to carry home.

“We’ve got a big delivery first thing tomorrow morning. A wedding at Motesta Oasis.”

“Next time,” Sim assured them.

One by one, everyone went to say their goodbyes next to the speeder. Before he ducked out, Sim declined the torve weed cigarettes Obi-Wan offered, saying he’d teach them how to smoke properly next time. When his friend trotted down the steps to join his family and Sabé, Obi-Wan lingered while Wulfric put the sabaac cards away.

“I wanted to thank you,” began Obi-Wan, leaning against the pillar, “for something you said a few months ago.”

Wulfric turned with a quizzical expression from the display table where he'd replaced the sabaac set.

“You asked me why I didn’t do something to help that boy at Watto’s. Dojj.”

Reddening, Wulfric blurted, “I only meant--”

“No, it’s all right.” Obi-Wan sat on the living room step. “You were right. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of…what I was good at. What I was meant to do.” _We all did_.

The teenager tossed the fringe from his eyes but said nothing.

“It’s too late for Dojj. But Sabé and I have some friends. We’re going to try to help his family.”

Wulfric’s eyes rounded. “How will you find his sister?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Our friends have friends.”

“You mean--” He lowered his voice to a whisper, as if someone might overhear. “--the Rebellion?”

Obi-Wan brought a finger to his lips to signal secrecy, and Wulfric grinned, eyes brightening. For a moment the boy just hopped on his toes, briefly looking much younger than his fourteen years. Then he came and sat cross-legged in front of Obi-Wan and looked up at him.

“You know people?” he whispered.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Can you--” Wulfric swallowed. “Would you introduce me?”

Obi-Wan looked through the open door. Sim was tossing Gunnar into the speeder like a sack of potatoes while Tuva appeared to be literally climbing up her mother to reach it.

“When you're old enough. If your parents approve. Yes.”

“Wizard!”

Obi-Wan merely smiled. “Come on, let’s go before they wonder if I’ve taken on a new apprentice.”

They rose, Wulfric flushed with excitement and wonder. Obi-Wan had nearly reached the door when the boy spoke his name.

He stilled, closing his eyes, and returned to a musty room filled with archives, within a place that no longer existed and a time when everyone knew who he truly was.

He turned back to face him.

“How about when I turn fifteen?”

“Not a chance.”

"Sixteen?"

Obi-Wan huffed out a sigh, though he didn't mention the gleam of mischief in the boy's dark eyes. "Do the good you can where you are. Don't wait till you're where you want to be. Or worry about when you can go there."

Wulfric gave a solemn nod. "Okay."

"WULFIE!" called his father from the yard. "IF YOUR BUTT ISN'T IN THIS SPEEDER IN FIVE SECONDS…"

“ _IT’S NOT MY FAULT!_ ”

~*~

Obi-Wan shut his journal and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, the last words he'd written echoing as though someone had spoken them. _The result speaks for itself_.

There was more to that idea, only he hadn’t pinned it down just yet. Many things in the Force were that way: elusive when one tried to look at them too directly.

“That’s what parables are for,” said Qui-Gon. “They ease--”

“--the student into the story, I know.” Obi-Wan sighed, raked his fingers through his hair. “Trouble is, we all live our own parables and can’t see them from where we stand. I still feel _I_ am the student.”

A mug of tea appeared in front of him, and he looked up to catch Sabé’s smile as she retreated with hers to the bed, where she picked up _In the Coils of the Krayt_. Was she re-reading it?

“A true Master never stops learning,” said Qui-Gon, perhaps for the hundredth time.

Obi-Wan exhaled his irritation into the Force. “And what lesson have you learned most recently?”

“It’s quite a coincidence.” His ghostly smile warmed him--or perhaps it was the tea. “I’ll tell you when you’ve worked out this bit.”

“Sometimes I think your preferred method of teaching is just to stand back and watch.”

“You’ve caught on at last.”

Chuckling at Qui-Gon’s parting words, Obi-Wan pushed back from the table and rose from his chair. As he twisted to stretch back muscles cramped from sitting hunched, he caught Sabé quickly lowering her eyes to the holobook. His grin spread wider.

"Giving up?" she asked, abandoning the ruse as she lay the holobook on the table.

He crossed to the bed and joined her in it. "I'm a lover, not a writer."

Sabé gave a snort of laughter. "Incorrigible." But she drew him into her arms, brushed soft lips to his forehead and combed her fingers through his hair as he breathed in the scent of rominaria flowers from the hollow of her throat.

Some moments passed as they lay there, when finally Obi-Wan shifted to face her on the pillow. "Sim and I discussed children."

He felt the Force ripple around her, though her face remained calm. "Oh?"

"I told him the results speak for themselves," he went on. "I meant it to be encouragement about how he's raising Wulfric, and I believe he took it as such…" He rubbed his finger over his mustache.

"But?" Sabé prompted.

Obi-Wan lowered his hand. "It's not really very encouraging at all, is it? If the results don't speak for Sim's role, wouldn't that would imply he could do everything wrong, and Wulfric could still turn out well?"

"How is that not encouraging?"

“Alternatively, what if Wulfric makes poor choices after Sim has been a better father than any boy could ask for?”

“There are a lot of _if_ s in your reasoning.”

 _Even if_. Sim had said _especially if_. One could only plant the seed and give it light and nourishment. But sometimes aphids infested, or root rot set in, or a sandstorm hit. Sometimes the seed was malformed and never sprouted. Or it turned out to be a pumpkin instead of a squash.

A farmer didn’t berate himself. He learned from his mistakes and did better next time.

“There’s my parable,” he whispered.

And he told her.

When he’d finished, he sat up, intending to go to the table and make a note for tomorrow about a young Jedi serving in the AgriCorps, when a sound made him stop. He looked up at the ceiling, then at Sabé. She turned toward him, pushed herself to sit, and they both looked up again as though they might see through the roof into the sky beyond.

As one, they rose and crept slowly across the living room, not daring to give voice to the question that leapt to both their throats, for surely it couldn’t be…

Obi-Wan threw open the side door and stared into the dark, starless night.

"Rain," said Sabé beside him, her voice a whisper of wonder.

"It's raining," Obi-Wan said, as if it would make them believe their eyes.

Not merely a shower, but sheets of rain fell, silvery-grey in the light from the hovel, such as he'd never seen in the two and a half years he'd lived on this planet.

His eyes watered, then he felt the wetness of tears course down his cheeks. A tremble in the Force and a sniff at his side told him Sabé wept, too. Then, a shriek of laughter as she seized his hand.

"What are we doing indoors on a night like this? It's _raining_!"

Without stopping to put on boots or cloak, she darted through the door, dragging him with her. Their bare feet sloshed through puddles and slipped across grimy rocks until they reached the center of the yard, then he stopped, dropping Sabé's hand as his fingers spread wide as though he must open himself entirely to receive the blessing of rain. She stood the same way, arms outstretched with palms and face turned up. Under the light of three moons, he watched how her hair straightened and seemed to grow longer as the rain drenched it, her sleeping clothes soaked to the skin so he could see through them.

His own clothing felt like a second skin--one he needed to shed. He peeled his shirt away from his torso and slid from it, tossing it onto the fence. His trousers and underwear followed, and soon Sabé’s clothes hung next to his on the railing.

She whooped and ran naked through the pelting rain, sang a _hello_ to Mitali, who mooed back in confusion. Obi-Wan could barely see her in the dark and wet; Sabé was like a spirit flitting through the air, pale and lithe, dancing near him and darting away before he could snatch at her. He settled for chasing her, but soon it wasn’t enough to trot--he opened to a run, flew past her, around her, caught her hand and spun her. Her body slipped by his and returned, again and again until, laughing, they ended in each other’s arms.

They stood still, looking at each other through the veil of rain. He watched the rise and fall of her chest in counterpoint to his own, though he couldn't hear their panting over the patter of raindrops on their shoulders and the puddles pooling at their feet. His eyes tracked the rivulets running along the curves of her body, now and then a droplet beading at the tip of her nose or nipples and glistening before it, too, fell. The mud that spattered their calves and thighs as they frolicked washed clean by the steady rainfall.

Even the desert dust transformed, now oozing as mud between their toes, suddenly alive and rich with potential. He drank the rain from her lips as they kissed, and he took his nourishment from her readily, easily. Their hands slipped over each other’s skin, slick and shivering in the evening coolness, anointed by these impossible heavens. It was as though, because of nothing more or less than his belief, the magic had chosen to reveal itself at last.

Obi-Wan wasn’t certain how they both ended up kneeling until they were inch-deep in the muck, faces and bodies pressed together, and even that wasn’t close enough. As he lowered Sabé back onto this strange new earth and she guided him into her, he remembered the dreams he’d had of burying himself in her, of planting seeds as a garden sprouted up around them. He saw green stems straining toward the light as their joined bodies strained together beneath the moons. Not upward, but down, deeper into the earth. Into Sabé, her heels digging into the divots at the backs of his hips. With every thrust against her, the loam softened in the rain to receive them and what they had to offer.

This was how worlds formed, even Tatooine, millennia ago, and now. Crude matter in the sludge, transfigured into luminous beings. Sabé's eyes shone up at him, her face framed by the dark fan of her hair curling into the mud like seeking vines. His fingers penetrated the earth, clinging for purchase as hers dug into his flesh. Deeper sank his knees as he drove into her, until he felt as though they would be buried here, the two of them becoming elements of life that would wait, wait at the bottom of the sea as these waters rose all around them. His forehead fell to her muddy shoulder, his hair trailed into the dark puddle beneath her neck, and he felt the vibration of her voice as it cried out, nearly drowned by the sound of the rain. He couldn’t even hear his own muffled release as he groaned against her skin.

After the waves of climax ceased, and Sabé held him fast with arms and legs wrapped tight around him, he was a little surprised not to feel the shifting of the ground beneath him, like the pull of the shore with the ebb and flow of the tide, or an ocean bed by the currents above. Slowly, he became aware again of the drumming on his back, and a shudder beneath him.

"You're shivering," he said, raising his head, and as soon as he did, cold coursed down his spine. "We should go in and warm up before we get a chill."

"I didn't survive Dantari flu to catch my death of cold here, of all places," Sabé said.

Disentangling himself from her embrace, he pushed to his feet, with some difficulty owing to the mud that sucked at his knees and palms, falling inelegantly back on top of her once. He reached down a hand to help her up, which proved a less than gallant gesture as neither of them could get a good grip and her hand slipped from his and she landed on her backside with a splash. Laughter sapped their strength for some moments longer, but eventually they managed to get upright.

Obi-Wan kept his arm around her shoulders as they picked a path back to the house, guided by the lights shining through the small rectangular windows, and he smiled at how homey an image it was. They left their sodden sleeping clothes draped over the split rail fence to dry after the rain stopped, joking that they ought to bring out all their laundry and wash it this way. Not wanting to track mud inside, they remained in the downpour a few minutes longer as they cleaned up best they could, helping each other to wash the mud out of long, tangled hair.

"We'll probably be cleaning this out of awkward places for days," Sabé remarked.

“Is it true that the well-to-do on Coruscant _pay_ to have mud slathered on as some sort of skin treatment?”

“Good point. We’re living the high life.”

Still, neither of them could see tromping naked and shoeless into Mitali’s shelter to retrieve the spare buckets. They’d belatedly realized they ought to catch as much of the rainfall as they could to top up the garden cistern, so they dressed quickly in the hallway and set the pails around the perimeter of the fence.

Returning to the house, they donned dry sleep clothes and wrapped up in a quilt, then sat on the top step in the shelter of the doorway to watch the rain come down. It didn’t make the same kind of music as it had on the tin roof when Obi-Wan had sat on the porch with Qui-Gon; this rain sounded more spontaneous than that. A jig rather than a ballad. He turned to grin at Sabé and found her smile, and her glistening eyes, already on him.

He took her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“How long will this last?” she asked.

“No idea.”

“Let’s enjoy it.”

They snuggled closer under the quilt, Sabé’s head against his shoulder. His thumb stroked hers, and every now and then he bent his head, not taking his eyes off the rainy scene, to brush a kiss to the top of her head.

He might have watched this alone. If she'd left on a freighter, or if she'd died from that fever. This rain would still have fallen tonight, but it would only have been rain and nothing more. _He'd_ have been nothing more. Only Crazy Ben, with a ghost for company.

And what would Sabé have been? If she’d survived on her own, what might she have become?

He pushed the questions aside. Possibility shouldn't concern him, for he was mindful of _this_ present. No other. And the future that might grow from this moment held so many promises. What might they become?

Sabé sighed, long and deep.

"I quite agree," Obi-Wan said.

She didn't reply. Her head slipped forward slightly on his shoulder, and a glance down revealed her to be asleep. Peacefully. She'd never looked more so, and he knew that her face as it was now would be image he'd call upon whenever he needed to find peace. He shifted to allow her to rest more comfortably in the cradle of his arm, debating inwardly whether to wake her so she wouldn't miss a second of this event, which wouldn’t happen again for stars knew how long, when a yawn of his own carried that thought out of his head. When was the last time he'd been lulled to sleep by the sound of rain?

Leaning against the doorway, he nestled Sabé against his chest and fell asleep.

...And woke, moments later, it seemed, to a hazy morning. The suns hadn’t yet peeked over the horizon, but familiar, muted desert colors stretched across the landscape. The humidity would burn away soon. The only difference between this and any other morning was the amount of dew on everything. Aside from the vaporator working harder today, it was the same as ever.

Sabé’s head lolled on his breastbone and she started awake. Sitting up, the quilt fell from her shoulders, and she rubbed her eyes like a child. Obi-Wan smiled.

When she opened them and blinked, her face crumbled. “KARK!”

He chuckled.

“When did it stop?”

“I don’t know.” He shifted, trying to get the feeling back into his leg. “I fell asleep, too.”

Sighing, she stood and stretched. “I don’t want to see this. Let’s do our chores and spend the rest of the day inside. We can pretend it’s still raining.”

He couldn’t agree more.

Yet for all he wished the rain had lasted longer than a night, he knew that everything had its own time, its own purpose. Now was the time for day to dawn, cloudless and bright. What would its purpose be?

The question took root in his mind, burrowing deeper as they went about their day, though he tried not to dwell on it, for the answer might as easily sprout up as a pesky weed as a flower. They spent the better part of the morning in the cellar, where the lack of windows and the steady trickle of water through the pipes made it easier to imagine that, above ground, the sky continued to pour out its blessings on the deprived earth below. Even their chores--muddy laundry to wash, the cisterns to fill from the buckets they'd set out--reminded them of the miracle that had occurred. Sabé seemed convinced enough by the little game, but Obi-Wan couldn't shake the sense of expectation. Not the restlessness before battle. This was...something else. Heavy, though not with dread.

They played sabaac. He wrote down the parable about the farmer Jedi. They ate, and took a nap, and made love. When night fell, they went to sleep, and his dreams took him to gardens he didn’t recognize, and farmers who never turned to face him.

He woke early with the same anticipation, as though it were a feast day, or the day of his initiate trials. Even the dust motes seemed to dance through the shafts of wan morning light. He flopped out an arm to disturb their pattern and watched them swirl for a while. Then he turned and propped up on an elbow to look down at the sleeping Sabé, her face flushed, lips slightly parted. In the dimness, the peak and valley of her collarbone became a landscape, like tilled earth. He leaned forward and kissed it, then rose from the bed, shuffled to put the kettle on. As he turned, a flash of color caught his eye.

He blinked. Rubbed his eyes, as if to clear the lingering traces of a dream.

The color remained

With deliberate steps, he went and peered through the side door window, his nose almost pressed to the transparisteel.

Purple.

The yard, at least what he could see through the narrow slit, was purple.

"What's out there?" came Sabé's voice from the bed.

Obi-Wan couldn't tear his eyes away from the view. "I'm not sure… I think…"

His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that he didn't register the rustle of sheets as she rose, the scuff of her bare soles on the tile as she rushed to the entryway, until he heard the click of her cycler rifle behind him.

"Nothing like that," he said, with a glance back over his shoulder, before he pushed the door open.

The hush of the hovel met the clarion call of what could only be described as a riot of color, mostly purple and fuschia, a little yellow and orange, all infused with green. _Green_. It lapped at the foot of the steps where they stood like an encroaching sea they somehow hadn’t noticed until today.

It smelled like Naboo.

As Sabé leaned her rifle against the wall, Obi-Wan felt questions scurrying behind her  lips, just as the small desert animals did through desert flowers that had suddenly sprouted from an unsuspecting earth. Life everywhere. Even here.

Especially here.

He found himself reaching for her hand, as she'd taken his the night it rained. Then, a wild joy had possessed them, made them dart out into the downpour with childlike abandon, shouting out because they couldn't keep silent. To do so now would be like running through a throne room or screaming the middle of a sacred rite. Instead, they took first one tentative step down, then another, treading lightly, mindful of the blossoms, not wanting even to breathe too loudly. It was fortunate, then, that he was breathless with awe.

Through the fields of flowers,growing so thick that it felt like wading into the ocean, they walked. Dark leaves cooled the balls of their feet, tickled their arches, nipped at their heels as they tiptoed through the lushness toward Mitali’s pen. Here and there lay bare patches, but otherwise the short, rugged flowers grew everywhere. They trembled in the warm breeze, not yet wilting under the suns that just peeped over the horizon.

Mitali didn’t spare them a grunt this morning; she was too busy cropping the petals, leaves, and stems--unexpected treats, to be sure. Sabé opened the gate to let her out to graze, but the eopie didn’t so much as raise her head. Today, everything she and her unborn calf needed lay within the confines of her fenced area. The young eopie would develop strong and healthy, and his mother would have the nutrients to produce rich milk for it and their human caretakers.

Sabé planted a foot on the bottom railing of the fence and stood tall, shading her eyes as she looked out toward the expanse of dunes and mountains. _The Wastes_ seemed a most inappropriate name for the countryside now, painted in gentle sunlight and lush vegetation. When she turned, Obi-Wan reached up to help her down and kept an arm around her waist as they left Mitali to her breakfast.

They wandered down the hillside and up another, which provided a better view of the transformed landscape, the hems of their white sleep pants painted yellow with pollen, as by a watercolorist's brush. He hoped the stains would never wash out and dull their memory of this morning.

By wordless agreement, Obi-Wan and Sabé sat down together among the blooms, shoulder to shoulder, legs stretched out, and let the scented breeze caress them, like cool fingers over a fevered brow.

Already some of the petals separated from their stems and drifted off, carried by the wind to destinations near and far. Perhaps even today some of their seeds would find new places to nestle belowground and wait. _Wait_ , no matter how long it took, for the next rainstorm, the next sunny day, to flower.

Want surged through him, and he knew beyond all doubt what it was that he longed for. He turned his face to Sabé and found her already looking at him. He felt her yearning, too, the same as his own. He reached out to cup her cheek. Her fingers circled his wrist, drawing him closer, until his forehead pressed to hers.

"Obi-Wan." His name on her lips broke the silence. "Let's make a life here."

"There's no greater reverence to the Maker," he said as he leaned in, a breath against her mouth, a blessing, "than the planting of a garden."

_The End_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this fic was inspired by the real blooming of the [Atacama Desert ](https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/atacama-desert-flowers_us_59a806b0e4b0a8d145738250). We couldn't think of a more fitting way to wrap up Obi-Wan and Sabé's story than with them seeing the desert flower all around them.  
> 
> 
> It feels so strange to say the words _the end_ about _Born of Light_ \--especially when it's a happy ending. They deserved it, after all we put them through, and so did our readers. We've loved every moment of writing and sharing it with you and are thankful for each and every comment and kudo. This isn't the last you'll be seeing from us for this pairing. Before we ever started _Born of Light_ , we planned to write the Rebellion AU from _Queen of Peace_ , and we're well into an outline for it now. And of course, who knows what _The Last Jedi_ will inspire. Fingers crossed for Rey Kenobi becoming canon. ;)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Market, To Market](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14604909) by [mrstater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater)
  * [Guardians of A Rare Thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15953297) by [ladyarcherfan3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyarcherfan3/pseuds/ladyarcherfan3)
  * [Growing Seasons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16246502) by [mrstater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater)




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